Many Times, Many Ways
by ChunkyMunky241
Summary: Holidays coming on strong, the JL is caught in a dilemma: after the events of the Thanagarian invasion and the Cadmus Project, can they ever hope to return to times of Comfort and Joy? Well, they won't let the holiday blues get to them without a fight!
1. Baby, It's Cold Outside

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Baby, It's Cold Outside

The weather seemed to argue otherwise, but he knew it would be worth it to catch her by surprise this night. So many times on the watchtower—well, when they were on the watchtower—she had bested him in ambushes. Not this night.

The flakes flew sideways in the sharp wind, swirling round his racing form. The slate grey ground just beginning to gather its winter coat rushed past in the cold, crisp air. Soaring over the busy New York streets, now packed due to the limited speed one could travel in such snow, the green aura only provided minimal warmth for the Lantern. His power's focus mostly on his speed, he hoped her loft would be warm.

But then again, anything with her in it was pretty damn hot.

* * *

"I'm not taking the next two weeks off; it's ridiculous. This is a religious holiday for Earth—it makes more sense for me to have duty." Her fingers deftly tapped the buttons on the console to change screens.

"No ifs, ands, or buts about it. You can't stay in front of the monitors all the time. Other people need practice."

Ice's laughter at a joke Plastic Man told tinkled in from the other side of the large room while the handheld video game Booster Gold played beeped incessantly.

"But isn't it that Chrastmis time or something?" She refused to look away from the computer display.

"Christmas, Shayera," the broad-shouldered shadow engulfed her form from behind. "Christmas time. And not all of Earth participates. And even so, we have shifts for a reason."

"But—"

The Man of Steel stepped around and leaned in front of her with a stern look, forcing her to cease her hovering over the keypad. "What did I tell you about 'buts'?"

The doors to the console room whooshed open. "Whose butt?"

Superman rolled his eyes at Flash. "Conjunction, not anatomy."

"Conju-what, Paper Boy?" with a scarlet blur Flash stood beside the larger man, though his eyes followed Gypsy's swagger out the door from which he came. She waved to Vigilante before the she was out of sight.

"Anyway, I've already told you, Shayera," Superman ignored the jesting sleight. "If I have to make your vacation an order, I will."

"What does it matter if I want to work instead of take time off?" Shayera contested. "Maybe I just like working."

"I don't think that it's good relations with the people to be so isolated," the look Superman gave now was a little softer. "Maybe if you spent more time with them you'd be better connected."

"What he means is, your popularity won't be so far down the toilet," Flash quipped.

Superman almost cracked a smile. "Pretty much. And this time of year, people tend to be more forgiving. Besides, having a little fun won't hurt you, you know."

Shayera shrugged with a deep breath. "I suppose it's too much to hope that you'll give up soon . . . or that you'll have any ideas as to _what _exactly I'm supposed to do with this time off. It's not like I've got a lot of social engagements in my life at the moment," she cast a glance at Vigilante, not too far away, his back turned, she supposed, because most preferred not to keep in eye contact with her.

"Hey," Flash perked up, "I've got an idea. I'm doing my yearly orphanage visit pretty soon. Why don't you come along with me?"

"And scare the kids out of their wits by bringing a 'filthy hawk' with you? I'll pass."

"Now, you know, it's not such a bad idea," Superman conceded. "It'd give you a good idea of the holiday as well as some time among the people."

"But I—"

Superman gave a _look_.

Shayera battled right back. "_However_, I-"

"You're not going to get out of it with word games," he turned to leave. "Have a happy holiday," he smiled with just a hint of 'or else' underneath before stepping strongly to the exit.

"I hope I'm not ordered to spend _all _of my time off with you," Shayera crossed her arms.

"Aw, come on. Quit being such an Ice Queen," Flash looked over his shoulder to the huffing Ice, "No offence. But really," he turned back, "you gotta realise that Supes knows way more about gaining the people's trust. You can't make friends with them by just beating the bad guys. You gotta kiss a few babies-or sometimes, kiss a few other things-to get on their good side, y' know?"

"I'm not that liberal with my lips, Wally."

"We'll see," he smirked.

She gave an incredulous look.

"What? I mean the babies . . . really."

Plastic Man glanced from that side of the room back to Ice. "You think it's a coincidence that all the original members now have time off for the same two weeks?"

"Not really. I bet to Superman it's all one big family reunion," she ran a hand through her white hair.

Booster Gold did not look up from his game. "It's not like they don't deserve to have it though."

"True," Plastic Man agreed. "A lot has happened."

"Yeah well," Ice said, dismissing it for more amusing issues. "So what were you saying about the flamingo and the loincloth?"

* * *

She followed the brown coat down the street, trying to stay out of the other pedestrians' way as they briskly headed off to work. Weaving in out of the professionally clad, briefcase-toting populace, she finally caught up to her quarry and laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"J'onn," she said as he turned to face her.

"Diana," the sandy-haired man responded.

"You've done a pretty good job fitting in," she smiled. "It took me a while to find you."

"Physically, I have adapted well," was all he answered as the people kept their fast pace, nearly becoming indistinguishable in their haste. No one seemed to pay attention to the raven-haired beauty and the seemingly plain, average man. "But other than that . . ."

"Come off it. You know Clark got us all the same week off, right?"

She did not have to clarify to whom the 'us' referred. "Yes."

"Well, I was thinking maybe you'd like a little help in your quest to connect with humanity."

"I know," he said. "However, as an Amazonian Princess, I fail to see how your efforts would improve my quest as dramatically as you hope."

"I'm not working this alone," Diana smiled.

J'onn looked impassive. "You're sure you can convince him."

"Trust me, I have my ways with him."

* * *

He landed beside the brick building and ducked into the alley beside it, shedding his uniform for his leave clothes, coat and all with a scan of his ring. He gazed up at the third story window, and seeing the light giving a feeling of welcome warmth, made his way to the stoop.

After tapping the code to enter the building he made his way up the stairs beside the resident shop on the first floor. Keeping his steps in check as he progressed upward, he could hear the snowstorm just starting to whip up into its full frenzy. His feet stopped at the door.

He raised his hand to knock, but, thinking about his surprise intentions, vied to reach into his pocket for the key. He held it a moment in his gloved hand, rubbing his thumb over the brass grooves, as if he could detect the trust with which it was given there. He had never made a copy of his own key. He would have to remedy this.

Silently as possible, he turned the key and opened the front door. He slowly crept into the open room, the snow falling fast outside behind the tall, gold-draped windows. The door brushed shut behind him with the softest of clicks. The room had a soft glow to it, the lights dimmed and topped with soft yellow shades, making the light wood floors reflect the cosy cheer. The room was quiet but for the crackling of the fireplace and the ticking of the gold clock on the wall. John took a step forward.

Promptly pounced upon by his lithe woman, he could hardly resist her sudden embrace. Melting in the heat of her kiss he staggered and leaned back on the closed front door, one hand upon the wood panels, the other supporting his attacker for fear she would lose her balance in her precarious position atop him.

Vixen finally pulled away with a devilish grin. "I'm wearing your favourite colour."

"Red's not my favourite," John looked confused, though he definitely enjoyed checking the outfit to see. The slit up the side was high enough to lift anyone's . . . spirits.

The dark beauty's grin stretched. "I never said _where _I'm wearing it." Before John could share in her rakish delight she continued. "But first let's start with some eggnog, hm?"

John's eyes followed her swaying hips as she sauntered toward the kitchenette. "Don't mind if I do," he sat at the counter on one of the cream coloured barstools as she poured two glasses.

"What's wrong?" she asked as she slid him his drink.

"Huh?" He snapped back to attentiveness. "Oh, nothing. I . . . just never got to surprise you."

She looked at him a little strangely before taking her seat next to him. "You're sure? Because I'd think you'd be used to it by now. You can't beat me, Boo."

John said nothing and took a drink.

Vixen turned his head gently with her fingers. "Come on, you can tell me."

"I-I don't know . . ."

"If you don't want to tell me, that's okay. But I'm not going to let you be all mopey during one of the few times we get leave together. You know I have to go back next week. Our shifts don't exactly match, so we've got to make the best of it."

John blinked and looked into her cinnamon eyes, entreating him with warm emotion. "Yeah . . . okay."

"All right then," despite the lingering hesitation she concluded her statement happily. "No more moping. Now, did you bother to look up?"

"At wha-" Her lips were on him before one could say 'mistletoe'.

* * *

_I simply must go_

_Baby, it's cold outside_

_The answer is no_

_Ooh baby, it's cold outside_

_This welcome has been_

_I'm lucky that you dropped in_

_So nice and warm_

_Look out the window at that storm_

_My sister will be suspicious_

_Gosh, your lips look so delicious_

_My brother will be there at the door_

_Waves upon a tropical shore_

_My maiden aunt's mind is vicious_

_Ooh, your lips are delicious_

_Well, maybe just a half a drink more_

_Never such a blizzard before . . ._


	2. Mistletoe and Holly

Mistletoe and Holly

* * *

"Clark, what have I told you? You need to eat more—you always look so thin when you come back to us."

"Aw, Ma," Clark blushed as his broad shoulders took up the whole doorway.

Pa Kent pulled the Man of Steel into a bear hug.

"Hey, Son, where's your friend this time?" the older man asked as he pulled away.

"J'onn?" Clark adjusted his glasses back into place. "Well, I heard Diana wanted to make some plans with him—help him connect more with Earth."

"What is this, assimilate the aliens season?" Pa Kent laughed. "Didn't you tell me you had to practically force that hawk one to take the time off?"

"Yeah, Shayera's a handful sometimes, but it'll be good for her to get out."

"What I'm wondering is why J'onn couldn't spend the holiday with us again," Ma Kent raised a finger to her cheek in question.

"Well, maybe he needs to see another side of it . . . maybe discover it together with Diana. I'm not sure what she's done for this season in the past, but I do know she's probably still new at it."

"As long as he's not alone, I'm sure he'll be fine then," Ma Kent smiled. "Now come in from the cold; I don't want you catching sick."

"When's Kara coming back, Son?" Pa Kent put a hand upon Clark's shoulder as they stepped into the living room.

"She's on the same leave schedule as Question, Captain Atom, Hawk and Dove, and some others. They don't get off until next week."

"It's lucky she'll be here the week of Christmas," Ma said, taking her boy's coat and hanging it on the rack. "And at the same time as that dashing captain," her eyes sparkled, and one could almost see the cogs turning behind the gleam. "Yes, she's lucky all right."

Clark looked a little perturbed. "Uh, yeah . . . speaking of which, Ma, since Kara's not going to be here until next week, I was wondering if you would mind if I went to celebrate this week with some of my friends. Then I can come back and we can celebrate together with Kara here."

Pa shrugged and looked at Ma for confirmation.

"I don't see anything wrong with it, dear. I'm sure your 'friends' will be very happy to be with you," she gave that same cog-turning look.

"Ma, what are you—"

"Well, there's no reason you have to start off right away. Let's get you to the kitchen and have you eat something." For a small lady, she had a very strong grip as she led one of the greatest heroes of all time by the arm. "I won't have my boy be a sack of bones."

* * *

"Alfred, I said no visitors."

The cave echoed gloomily the gruff voice. His hands clasped together, resting elbows on the consul of the giant computer, the scowl on his face was less than inviting.

"You did, sir. However, I must say that she was most insistent."

The Dark Knight's head turned with the word 'she'.

"And I thought it prudent to permit her, as I'm fairly sure you'd like your art and weapons collections intact for the upcoming banquet." The faithful man stepped aside to reveal Diana, princess of the Amazons, in a suede jacket and slacks.

"So when's the official restraining order? Or are you just going to avoid me forever?" She crossed her arms irritably. Alfred took the oncoming hostility as his cue to exit.

"What makes you think you're special? I avoid everybody."

"Well that's a nasty habit."

"I'm a nasty person."

"I wouldn't have to come by here unannounced if you would pick up your phone every once in a while."

"What do you want here, anyway?" his tone was exasperated. He knew the argument would continue if the subject remained unchanged, and with his current lack of sleep from the Penguin's heist last night, he did not feel in the mood.

"It's J'onn."

"I thought you made him mingle with the people of Earth."

"That's just it. I think this whole holiday season makes it even harder for him to connect with the people. He needs help."

Batman turned back to his monitor, projecting the headlines of the Penguin's capture.

"_Your _help."

"Why mine? You're help enough."

"In case you've forgotten, I haven't really been briefed much on how the holiday works in the past. I saw how the monitors worked. I saw how the doors to the living quarters worked. I saw how the utility—"

"All right," he lifted himself from the chair with his hands on the consul. "I get it, you can't teach him on your own. So why not get Superman to?"

Diana shrugged. "I figured that he actually spent the holiday with his loved ones and I wouldn't want to intrude."

"So you intrude on m—"

"But I _know _that you're not doing anything."

"I actually do have a few appointments I need to attend," he looked at her sternly.

"We won't take up all of your time," She responded, turning in a motion that indicated that he should follow. "We just need you to show us some of the things that make this Christmas time so . . . 'merry', is it?"

Batman moved like a peeved shadow behind her. "Why didn't he come to ask with you?"

"I told him not to," she said as they both stepped up the stairs. "I knew you would be your usual charming self, and no one needs to be exposed to that unless absolutely necessary."

"Thanks," he said dryly.

They walked out from behind the grandfather clock to see a sandy-haired man with a lean face sitting in a large and comfortable armchair, obviously enjoying a pastry with his tea.

"Plus Alfred said he made tarts. Who knew J'onn had a sweet tooth?" she whispered conspiratorially.

"You should know better than to whisper around a telepath," Batman whispered back.

* * *

"Santa Flash is back, guys!"

A crowd of children rushed toward the red-suited hero, jumping up and down in excitement. _"Yeah!" "All right!" "Flash!" _they cheered at random.

The leader of the orphanage simply smiled from the side of the room at the sight.

Flash laughed, a little overwhelmed by his favourite fans' onslaught. "Okay, okay, settle down, guys; you'll scare my friend."

"_Brought a friend?" "Friend?" "Is he weird-looking like last time?"_

"No, _she's _not weird-looking. You guys have probably seen her sometimes on TV, y' know." Flash winked toward the doorway, "You can come out now. They won't bite."

Shayera stepped cautiously into the room, feeling a little naked without her mace. Being the target of all the little stares, including the worried look of the orphanage leader, made her decidedly uncomfortable, and she lifted one arm across herself defensively. The stunned silence of the room did not ease her anxiety.

"Angel," a little Asian girl finally said in wonder. "Are you an angel?"

"No she's not! She's Hawkgirl!" a dark boy beside her shouted enthusiastically. "She kicks butt!"

A little blond boy in the back said quietly, "But I heard she was bad."

"No she's not, Davey!" the dark boy shouted again. "She's on the Justice League like Flash. That means she's good!"

"But on TV they said—"

"Hold on, guys," Flashed stepped in. "Rudy's right. She's with me, so she's good, okay? I promise."

This seemed to ease the children and Shayera gave Wally a look of relief, quickly followed by a look that clearly said, 'I told you so.'

Wally shrugged it off with efficacious charm before turning back to the children. "All right, so what have you kids been up to?"

"Snowflakes!" they shouted in unison. Before Shayera could look confused, a little girl unfolded a piece of paper punctured with holes of every shape. "Look how pretty!" the girl beamed.

"Wow!" Flash smiled, bending down to eye-level with the girl. "That is pretty cool."

"Come make some with us, Flash!" another child shouted happily.

"Hey, hey, hold on. You guys haven't even told me what present you want!"

Shayera looked at him. "Present?"

"I'll explain it when I get back," he said to her. "What's it gonna be this year, guys?"

* * *

_I can't believe he left me alone here_, Shayera scowled mentally. _'Stay here, keep the kids company. I'll be back in a fl-' okay, now I _know _this is too much time with him. I'm even _thinking _bad puns._

"No, no, you're doing it all wrong!" the Asian girl, whom Shayera had found to be named Kim, chastised. "If you cut it that way, it won't work."

Much to her chagrin, when Shayera pulled the paper that was to be her own snowflake open, it fell to pieces.

Kim sighed. "Told you." She picked up another piece of paper and started folding it. "Watch what I do."

For some reason, it did not seem as demeaning as she thought it would be to get lessons from a child.

"See, if you cut it on that fold, the thing won't stay together."

Shayera looked up at the familiar voice to see a nonchalantly grinning Flash sitting across from her at the crafts table.

"He's back!" Kim yelled excitedly.

A crowd of children gathered round the hero jumping up and down expectantly. Shayera remained in her seat, contemplating the triangularly folded piece of paper.

_Even here . . . even children know about it. _She balanced the paper between her first two fingers. _What am I doing here? I should be back at the—hey! _She suddenly felt her head squashed down by a large hand.

"Quit looking so down in the dumps. You'll upset the kids," Flash mussed her hair. He backed away at the death glare she targeted upon him.

"Hey, easy now."

Considering her situation, Shayera forced herself to calm down. "What did you get them?"

"Some bunch of wires and gears covered in a soft, plushy exterior," he shrugged. "But it's what they wanted and it makes 'em happy, so that's all that matters."

Shayera's eyes went out of focus as she watched the children dancing around ecstatically, smiles all around, laughing and jumping, with the orphanage leader not too far out of safety's range. The heroine's expression remained unreadable.

"Hey, Kimmers," Flash's voice snapped her out of it as he greeted the girl's return. "Why aren't you playing with the other kids?"

"I didn't finish teaching her," Kim pointed to Shayera before sitting back up at the crafts table and picking up her previously discarded paper and scissors. "You cut like this," she continued, as though she had never been interrupted.

Shayera blinked in surprise, but picked up her scissors nonetheless. She looked from Kim's folded triangle to her own, and tried to mimic her snip for snip.

"Hold on, don't cut there," Flash said, amused at her ineptitude. "You're gonna ruin the whole thing that way. She's cutting over here, see?" he grabbed her hand and cut with her on the opposite side of the paper.

The Thanagarian was a little uncomfortable with the contact, but with the humorously serious scrutiny of little Kim satiated and marked by a nod of her approval, she decided to let it slide.

"That's right," Kim appraised the work. "When you open it up, it should go like this," she unfolded her own snowflake, dotted with little heart and diamond-shaped cuts.

Wally released her hand and Shayera stopped cutting to unfold her own work. At the rate it was going as she opened it up, she was afraid she would have another bunch of paper scraps, but, to her amazement, her creation held together . . . barely.

She heard a chuckle next to her. "Looks like you still cut a little too much," Wally snickered.

"If you've got something you want to say, you can say it in the training room when we get back."

"Na, I think it looks great," he took the wispy flake and held it up to look at it better. "It's so soft and delicate. A true expression of the artist," he smirked.

"Of its critic," Shayera corrected with a hint of malice.

He laughed again, this time at her irritation and set the snowflake down. "No need to get all worked u—"

"Your wings are real, right?" Kim interrupted him.

Shayera looked a little surprised. "Yes, they're real."

Kim's eyes looked watery. "My mommy used to say that angels were s'posed to protect us . . ."

Shayera looked down at her fragile snowflake, suddenly feeling very cold and alone in the warm, crowded room of the orphanage. _I tried, _her thoughts whispered guiltily. _I wanted to . . ._

Flash hesitantly lifted his hand to place upon her shoulder.

". . . that's why I'm happy you're on the Justice League," Kim smiled. Flash put his hand back down.

Her eyes snapping back to the little girl, Shayera took in her image. The black hair cut in a short bob with a short fringe above her round face, the tiny rosebud mouth in the softest of smiles, the dark, endearing eyes . . . someone believed in her.

"Hey," Flash said softly to Kim, and the gaze was broken. "You like angels?" He picked up another piece of paper and his scissors. In a blur of red, silver, and white, he quickly snipped until he had a blocky form of a person with something akin to wings on either side.

"Wow . . ." Kim said in wonder, her little brown eyes widening.

Flash pulled the figure from the sides, and a string of angels emerged, each linked with a heart between the other.

"There's a present just for you, Kim."

* * *

"Hey, Smallville."

"You making a habit of staying up this late, Lois?"

"News never sleeps, not even when everyone starts taking vacations," she continued typing without looking at him.

"Yes, but reporters need sleep," he rested a hand next to the typing console, peering over her shoulder.

"Only if they think they don't need a Pulitzer story," she looked at him askance.

"Have it your way," Clark shrugged. "I'll see you in the morning."

"You snooze you lose," she waved her hand dismissively. The clacking of her fingers on the keyboard continued until Clark's footsteps could no longer be heard outside the door. Slumping back into her chair, Lois sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Who needs sleep when I've got coffee?" she mused, picking up her mug. Only about a quarter of a cup left, she had no problem downing it quickly. She stared at the blinking cursor on the screen.

Tapped a pen in her hand and stared.

Tapped and stared.

"Ugh," she forced herself up, leaning on the computer. "When coffee fails, nothing like a sudden chill to get the gears going," she pulled her coat from the back of the chair. She looked out the floor-length windows so far above the ground packed with a spread of snow. It was snowing, but she could still make out the building across the street. Closing the tan coat around her, she made her way up the stairs to the roof.

The windblown snow was only blocked marginally by the giant globe behind her, but she did not mind so much. There was just something about seeing the city from this high up, rain or shine. Snow capped the towering buildings as the flurries dropped from the grey clouds above. Quiet and quite beautiful in this crystalline form, she felt a little at a loss as to one word to describe it. She would not exactly say 'frosted' . . . she was a journalist after all, determined to avoid clichés at all costs—

_Speak of clichés_, she rolled her eyes as a familiar blue and red form fell to the rooftop amongst the snow. "If you came to keep me warm, I brought my own coat," she smirked.

Superman stepped toward her. "Ha, ha," he smiled his pseudo-sarcasm back at her. "You could at least sound glad to see me."

"How long is it this time? A little dinner and then up and away again?" she looked up at him. "Because if we're going to do that, we might as well skip to a midnight snack and save on the tip."

"I've got two weeks off."

"I don't know how long I can kee—come again?" she blinked.

"Two weeks." Superman smiled. "And one's reserved for you."

"A whole week with you?" she laughed thoughtfully. "I wouldn't know what to do with all that time. How'd you manage that anyway?"

"Having a whole league of us has advantages."

"Oh? And was that your grand scheme the whole time? A clever way to get you a vacation with your exclusive reporter?" she nearly winked at him.

"Let's just say it's an unexpected benefit," he brought an arm around her waist and began to pick her up.

"Now hold on a minute," she took hold of his large arm. "I can't go flying anywhere with you tonight. I've got a story due."

"Lois, what was your last recorded time on an overdue story?" he cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Twenty-two minutes," her eyes gleamed back at him. "Typed," she tapped her finger on his chest, "checked," on his chin, "and pressed." She pulled him toward her by the chin and gave him a quick kiss.

Superman grinned and swooped her up. "And they say I'm the one with super powers."

"Where are we going?" Lois asked, pushing her whipping hair from her face as they flew.

"I don't know yet," if he could shrug while holding Lois, he would have. "Where do you want to eat tonight?"

"Some place warm. How about Morocco?"

"I thought you liked the Christmas season," he said, nodding toward the snow on the building tops.

"It's fine with me, as long as it doesn't soak through to my underpants," she said sardonically.

"It certainly comes on fast," he commented.

"You bad Boy Scout," she smiled playfully, "I wasn't sure you had it in you."

He looked down at her quizzically. "What in me?"

"That's the spirit," was all she answered. "Well, since you don't seem to want to go too far, why don't we try that place on Sixteenth Street?" Her smile looked mischievous.

"Uh, whatever you say . . ."

* * *

"You'd think with the way they're staring they didn't know superheroes need food to survive," Lois picked up her wine glass, glancing toward the windows that divided their table from the rest of the restaurant.

Superman hid a laugh.

She set her glass down. "What's so funny?" she asked quizzically.

"Nothing," he tried to cover.

"C'mon, tell me," she pressed. "What are you laughing at?"

"You wouldn't think it was that funny," he rested his chin upon his hand, gazing at her. "I'm Mr. Cornball, remember?"

Her smile was wry. "I hoped you would read that article. Now what's so funny?"

"Well, I was going to say that they're probably staring because of the beautiful woman sitting with me, not because I'm a superhero."

Silence.

"You were right; that was lame."

His face sunk.

"But I guess it was sweet, in a way," Lois conceded, pulling her hair back over her shoulder. A stray strand fell, and as she brushed it away with her fingers, she looked at him in a deductive manner. "So how did you manage to get time away for all original seven? Don't at least some of you need to be keeping the League together?"

"Lois," Superman sighed, "I thought we agreed: no interrogations at the table."

"I know, I know," for a few seconds, one could see a little of the childish spirit contained within the otherwise composed reporter as she said, "just this once though. It won't be in the books, I promise."

The restaurant bustled in the quiet between the two, even through the windowed partition that divided their private section of the dining area from the other tables. Not many people were left in the place at this hour, but the busboys' hard work muffled its way through the wall of glass and wood. The candle in the centre of the table gleamed steadily a soft light upon the two of them in the dim lit room.

"Truth be told," the Man of Steel started, "I figure the League can do more good if the leaders are closer to the people. You were right before."

"Some guys are still scared, huh?" Lois looked partially disdainful, partially understanding. "Even after all you've done . . . having all that power . . ."

"Exactly." He leaned back into the chair. "But if we can go out and celebrate the holidays with the rest of the people, instead of being cooped up in the tower or in the surface hall just monitoring, maybe we can get some of that trust back."

"As well as have a big fat justicy Christmas party," Lois gave a smile that told just how well she knew him.

Superman shrugged. "If that happens to be a result of it, then so be it."

She lifted her glass to him. "Cornball."

He tapped her glass with his own. "Would you mind if I did?"

She finished the last of her drink before she answered. "Of course I wouldn't mind, but have you ever organised a party before?"

"Well, not really . . ." he set his glass on the table as he scrunched his brow in thought. "But it couldn't be that hard. I mean, I organised a whole league of superheroes."

Lois shook her head. "You have no idea what you're getting into. Parties are _way _different territory from a club of superfriends."

"Justice League," he corrected. He did not know why, but something about that title irked him immensely. "And since you seem to know so much more about it, would you like to help out?"

"Help out as in do it for you, you mean?" she raised an eyebrow.

"You're the one familiar with the territory," he smirked at her.

"I guess I could," she smiled, pondering. "But only as long as I have free reign to interview the members."

Superman looked dubious. "Well, they may not answer you, but you can ask them. But no pictures," his stare was hard, "unless the they're given the green by the league."

"All right, all right," she laughed. "I'll put a leash on Jimmy." Lois twiddled with her napkin as she mused inwardly at the idea of a Justice Christmas Party—or would it be a 'Just Christmas Party'? "Who else would be coming?"

Superman blinked, confused. "We need more?"

"It wouldn't be much of a party with just you guys," Lois rolled her eyes. "If you ask me, the only one of you I think would feel at home at a party would be the Flash, and that's _not _the kind of party you guys need."

"Well, gosh," Superman scratched his head. "I . . . I don't know of anyone who should be invited . . . more Leaguers, maybe?"

Lois shook her head. "You want them to be gaining the trust of the people. If you make it League members only it'd look like a stuck-up club. You need to get some normal people in there."

"Well, make it open then."

Lois covered her eyes with her hand in exasperation and sighed. "This is why you need me. You can't just have it open; the crowd would be enormous. You guys are high-profile—you can't just have _everyone _roaring in. I wouldn't be able to get enough caterers for that kind of a riot anyway."

"Oh," he looked crestfallen.

"I may know someone from the entertainment section who could figure something out for that," Lois dismissed it for later. "Anyway, what would the theme be?"

Superman looked at her like she was the naïve one. "Uh, Christmas."

Blowing her bangs out of her face in a barely tolerant manner, Lois said, "You can't just have it be Christmas. That's too general. How about The First Noel? We could make it a costume party."

He shook his head. "Too religious. Some of them are still strangers to our ways. We shouldn't complicate it with a bunch of symbolism and stories that would have no meaning to them."

"Hm," she deliberated. "How about the Twelve Days of Christmas?"

"That wouldn't work either," he said.

"Why not?" Lois huffed.

"You know the twelve days are the days after Christmas until the Epiphany, right?"

"Someone paid attention in Sunday school," she said mocked. "I always thought they were before."

"Nope. Goes from Christmas to January sixth."

"Well, we could just celebrate it before, themed like the song—"

"Are you kidding? That one has even more symbolism. What would you say to them when they asked you what it all meant? You'd have to tell them the background of the Christian faith, the division between churches . . ."

"All right, all right, I get it," Lois was at her wits' end. "Is Winter Wonderland PC enough for you, Mr. Nondenominational?"

". . . well, I guess that's okay."

"Good. Then the date should probably be—"

"Lois, that's enough. We don't have to plan it all in one night. Didn't you say you had a story to write?"

"If I recall correctly, you were the one who insisted I had the time to be dragged away from that story," she crossed her arms, but then thought better of it when the idea of deadlines, bosses yelling, and I-told-you-so-Clarks intruded on her mild irritation. "You're probably right though," she acquiesced reluctantly. "I should be getting back soon."

"I didn't mean I didn't want to spend more time with you," Superman tried to ease it over. "I just don't want you in trouble because of me."

"Since when have you ever known me to keep out of trouble?" she laughed back into a light-hearted mood. And following that mood impulse, she leaned over the table while giving him a playful look. "Think we've got enough time for dessert?"

* * *

The rapid pattern of his footfalls drifted swiftly behind him. "I told you the white one was the best outfit to wear. It's more . . . festive."

Shayera soared above him, drifting on the thermals. As she looked down at the red blur beneath her, winding down the city streets in pace with her own, she wondered not for the first time how he could possibly project his voice upward loud enough for her to hear without it getting caught in the wind and flying uselessly behind him.

"C'mon," Flash continued. "Admit it, you had at least _some _fun."

"I just don't understand why we stayed so late," she finally spoke. "Most of them were falling asleep anyway."

"But I thought you liked snuggling with Kim."

"I was _not_ 'snuggling'. She wouldn't let go of me."

"Suit yourself," Wally shrugged, stopping in front of the Justice League's Earth Embassy. Shayera gently descended with a few beats of her wings and a soft tap of her foot's contact with the ground. "You did have fun though, right?"

Shayera turned to him, seeing his hopeful expression. "It . . . it was . . . nice of you to let me come," she managed to say through thoughts of children frightened of her, or worse, let down by her when she could not protect them—just because she had wings. "But I don't think people are ready to forgive just yet. Not even children."

"What are you talking about?" his eyebrows shot up under the red mask and he zipped in front of her, blocking her path to the door. "The kids loved you! You played with them! You snuggled with them! You—you made snowflakes!"

She sighed and looked to her feet. "Wally, it's just not a good idea to be around the people right now. They're still scared and upset, and I don't blame them." She stepped around him to the entrance.

"No!" Wally grabbed her arm, but immediately released it when she whirled on him. "No," he said more calmly, once again face to face with her. "They're not the ones scared and upset. And I'm not sure about what Supes wanted with this, but I think this is more about you than them. It's Christmas time, Shayera. It's all about g—"

"In case you've forgotten," she glared, snapping her hand away from him, "I'm an alien, a filthy hawk. Your holiday doesn't really do much for me."

"Well maybe it should!" his voice rose. "You can't go around expecting people to trust you if you don't give them any trust yourself!"

"I don't expect them to trust me!"

"Or you don't want them to! It works both ways!" He took a deep breath, calming down. "Look, Shayera, I think you should just give it a chance."

"Good night, Wally," she turned her back in response.

"You can't just walk away from this, Shayera," he said softly.

The doors closed.

Flash turned around and started walking down the steps. Stopping to sit down on one of them, he looked up at the sky, slate grey and dropping snow. Crossing his hands, elbows on his knees, he grimaced. "Way to ruin things again, Wally."

* * *

_Oh, by gosh, by golly_

_It's time for mistletoe and holly_

_Fancy ties an' granny's pies_

_An' folks stealin' a kiss or two_

_As they whisper, "Merry Christmas" to you_


	3. Please Come Home for Christmas

Please Come Home for Christmas

* * *

Mark stepped backwards, ahead of his mop, grateful this was the last hallway he had to do. . . He had actually managed to finish his work early, meaning he could be out of the place at six, and would be able to stop for coffee before he went downtown. The stores would not be open until at least nine o' clock anyway-and they would not even stay open that long today. He would have to be there as soon as possible . . . The splattering sound of the cleaning solution on the floor continued until he reached the automatic doors of the main monitor room. . . . But if he planned it right, he might even be the first one in the store, giving him a better shot at that new handheld baseball game his son wanted . . . Wringing out the last of the liquid in the bucket, he made his way to the closet to put it away. The beeping of the early shift using the computers punctuated the sound of his steps on the now clean floor of the round room.

"Looks like someone's got a case of the Mondays," Supergirl commented as she punched in her time and took a seat at the console next to a grumpy-looking Wildcat. He did not even break his glaring at the monitors to scowl at her.

"It's Sunday," Mr. Terrific transmitted from the Watchtower to the communication window on the screen in front of Supergirl.

"Whatever," she brushed it off, yawning. "So, anything yet?"

"If there was we would have told you to get up off your sleepy butt and get to work," Wildcat grumbled.

Supergirl rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "Just because I'm from Krypton doesn't mean I don't need sleep."

"Well, do it on your own t—"

"Captain Atom in, sir," a silver face appeared, blipping in from another window on the screen. It looked like a broadcast from the inside of a Javelin. "The reactor meltdown's taken care of. Coming back your way, over."

Supergirl sighed, bored, and put her feet upon a blank space on the console. "It's going to be another one of those normal disasters only days, isn't it?"

Mark had no problem with that news. He took his time crossing the room to the closet, wanting to be seen working his full shift's hours. . . . So he knew that Kyle wanted that baseball thing—he would have to check with Jess first; she might have purchased it for their son already. _That _would certainly put him in a fix. It would be a repeat of that fifth birthday all over again with the identical soldier action figures . . .

"Nothing wrong with a little peace every once in a while," Mr. Terrific commented.

Slumping deeper into her chair, her red-booted feet still elevated, Supergirl looked wistful. She put her hands behind her head and looked toward the ceiling. "Yeah, well anyway, just two weeks from now . . . two weeks from the day and I can be back home, opening presents . . ."

"Maybe _you _can," Wildcat growled. "Some of us have duty during the holiday."

"It's not so bad," Mr. Terrific shrugged. "At least no one has a full day. Only half hours for anyone working. Besides, with the way things have been lately, it doesn't seem like there'll be trouble any time soon."

Wildcat crossed his arms. "I wouldn't get used to it."

"Aw, the pussy cat feeling grumpy since he can't get his shrink sessions with the Martian?" Supergirl teased with a smirk.

An explicative ready on his lips, the look Wildcat gave was murderous.

"Anyway," she managed to ignore him, "this inaction thing's a drag. If nothing's gonna happen, why don't we just let the computers handle it and signal us on the off chance something comes up?"

"We can't just leave everything to computers," Mr. Terrific said. "I mean, computers can be hacked into or malfunction."

"And heroes can go rogue," Supergirl pointed out. "I don't see much difference in the odds."

"We can respond faster if we're here and looking for the danger," Mr. Terrific lectured. "If we're safe at home in our beds and an emergency comes up, it'd take us a lot longer to get to the action."

Supergirl was insistent. "Hello? Super speed. I can get there just fine."

Wildcat looked at her askance. "For Superman's cousin, you sure don't have a lot of family resemblance. This team's based off integrity, kid. If you just leave it to machines and don't do things personally, we lose that."

A second window opened up on the screen again. "Javelin 9 requesting entry to hangar, over."

"Permission granted," Mr. Terrific said, opening the doors. "Welcome back, Captain."

"How come Nuke Boy gets to have all the fun?" Supergirl shifted to place her head on her fist with her elbow on the armrest of the chair.

"You sound like you _want _disasters to start happening," came the reply from Wildcat.

"Hey, I just want to feel like I'm actually doing something. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a frontline kind'a girl. Not exactly monitor duty material."

"You've got to spot the trouble before you can fight it," Mr. Terrific responded sagely.

Captain Atom's face appeared behind the man in the red-trimmed black and white jacket. Mr. Terrific turned round at the sound of his voice. "Good thing we got the warning while that thing was still contained. A full meltdown, and there would've been real trouble."

"But since you got there in all your silver-spandex glory, it was just your run of the mill chemical cooling job," Supergirl rolled her eyes.

"Listen here, kid," Wildcat stood up and looked down at her from behind his whiskered mask. "One more bratty word outta you and I don't care who your cousin is, I'll teach you a lesson." He leaned over her, ominously smacking his fist into his palm.

"Go ahead and try it," Supergirl matched his glower. "I dare you. But when you cry about how much your fist hurts, I'll just say I told you so."

"Whoa, take it easy," Captain Atom leaned over Mr. Terrific to be seen in the monitor window.

Wildcat looked like he would take just one swing at her for good measure, but, with an angry tick in his left eye, controlled himself and sat back down.

Mark heaved a sigh of relief, glad the crisis was averted. Finally reaching the janitorial closet, he dumped the dirty water down the drain with a splosh and wrung out the mop. Putting the equipment away, he impatiently checked his watch as he stepped back into the main console room. . . . Two more minutes. Just two more minutes and he could clock out for the full hour. Why did the clock move so slowly? When he was on commission selling vacuums he never had this problem-then again, when he was on commission, he never really had any initiative to stay that long after he made his quota. Good thing Jess did the carpets at home; even looking at another vacuum made him a little queasy . . . He stepped slowly and circuitously around the room, trying his best to look occupied with something important and cleaning-related.

"You'd think you'd take my side on the whole thing, Corporal," Supergirl addressed the screen.

"What makes you say that?" Captain Atom frowned at her. "I don't want to go out lookin' for trouble."

"Well, you're pure energy and whatever. Shouldn't you be bursting to get some action?" She looked at him with a wry glance. "Or does your protective suit inhibit your performance?"

The Captain's expression darkened. "Pardon?" he said in a tone that was certainly _not _asking for clarification.

"You heard me," she gave an evil smile.

"Quit picking fights," Mr. Terrific berated Supergirl, pushing a smouldering Captain Atom out of the window's screen space. "With you around, we don't need anything to call us to duty. You're your own fighting force of nature."

"Why thank you," Supergirl beamed, then promptly stuck her tongue out at the Captain, who was trying to wedge his way into the screen space get another shot at the Kryptonian.

Wildcat shared a look with very smug-looking Supergirl. "You know I'm gonna tell on you, right?" he said in a most serious tone.

The smugness wiped itself off her face.

The time on his watch blipping to 6:01, Mark finally ambled over to punch out his time. Despite the strangeness and the danger and the odd hours sometimes, he had at least one positive thing to say about his job-besides it _not _being vacuum sales on ten percent commission: it was definitely never boring here. He would need to try and remember the conversation he had heard. Granted, Mark would never reveal any important information to Kyle, but he felt talks like the one he had just overheard did not contain any real classified information. The boy loved to hear about the greatest heroes on the planet exchanging banter like normal people, and used a lot of Mark's reports to sound as authentic as possible in many chapters of his stories. What did he call them again? Fan fiction?

* * *

"I still am unclear about the relation of foliage to religion."

"It's just a tradition," Bruce said irritably. The cold snow was no match for his frosty attitude as the group trekked through the white mounds blanketing the edge of the forest near Wayne Manor. His breath wisped past him as he crossed his arms, showing his disdain and heating his hands in the warm grip of the leather jacket simultaneously. He pressed ahead of the other three, the whole of them leaving a dotted trail of footprints behind.

"I believe there is some dispute over the origins," Alfred walked behind the group, carrying a large saw, "but to recall one I'm familiar with, it is said there was once a Saint Boniface. He claimed that the fir tree was representative of the Christian faith."

"I was informed this holiday has broadened from a religious tradition."

"It has, but it seems certain rituals are too much fun to be rid of," Alfred answered with a smile.

"I'm with J'onn," Diana agreed. "I don't really see how a tree can be much fun. It's just going to make a mess when it gets inside."

"You mean to say Master Bruce didn't tell you about the decorating?" Alfred blinked. Bruce trudged on ahead, grumbling to himself with his fists shoved into his pockets.

"We place decorations upon the branches of the tree?" J'onn looked to Alfred. It hardly seemed a question, but Alfred had long realised the Martian had a knack for knowing things he never remembered saying.

"Precisely."

"What kind of decorations?" Diana paused, tightening the laces on her boots to prevent the snow from entering.

"Well," Alfred adjusted the saw in his hands to ease the weight, "there are many different kinds of decorations one can purchase at a store, but I've always preferred the homemade kind myself."

"But what on earth would you put on a _tree_?" Diana was still confused.

"Oh, a great many things: strings of popcorn, ribbons, bows, tinfoil shapes, candy canes, sometimes even candles—though I'm not quite so bold as to try such a fire hazard in the manor."

"What strange ways," Diana mused.

Alfred shrugged his shoulders with a chuckle, but had to stop to catch the saw before he dropped it from the shifting. "I suppose they are."

"He has stopped," J'onn stated, indicating Bruce's form some distance before them, placed petulantly before a large, but not too large, tree.

"Those keen observation skills certainly come in handy, Master Bruce," Alfred commented as the rest of the party finally managed to join up with the scowling billionaire. Alfred circled the tree, examining the fullness and strength of the branches. "It seems you've found just the right type."

"Let's get this over with," he grabbed one end of the large saw Alfred carried as the butler held the other end. Walking over to one side of the trunk, the two men brought the tool into contact with the bark and, heaving from one side to the other, began to cut.

Back and forth.

Pushing and pulling.

Back and forth.

"What do you think you're you doing?"

"Cutting. It. Down." Bruce exhaled between shoves.

Diana sighed and, shaking her head, walked over to the opposite side of the tree, amidst curious glances of the two would-be lumberjacks. She put her hands on her hips with a frown.

"I'd move if I were you."

Alfred and Bruce stopped cutting just soon enough to see a well-built leg sweep its way cleanly through the entire trunk of the tree, just inches above where the saw was inset. The tree rose quickly into the air, only to be snatched up and brought down gently.

Ponytail of black hair blowing gently in the chill wind, Diana held the tree above her head with one hand and raised her brow at the gaping looks she received. "What?"

Bruce paused for a moment before blinking himself out of his surprise—a state in which he never liked to remain long, if at all. Considering the source here, he berated himself for not expecting something of the sort happening. After a long gaze, he shook his head and smiled slightly. "Nothing. Let's get back."

"Indeed," Alfred stood himself up from where he had ducked during the seeming explosion of the base of the tree and brushed the snow from his suit. "Perhaps I can make a pot of tea or some cocoa to calm our nerv—ourselves after such . . . exertion."

"Cocoa," J'onn repeated. "That is what Wally said is a good drink for cold weather."

"Right," Bruce said over his shoulder as he followed the tree-toting Diana. "Except unlike him, Alfred tends to limit the marshmallows to four. He feels anything over thirty is excessive."

* * *

Sunshine peered between the narrow streets of Chelsea, peeking from behind buildings and seemingly weaving its way through the traffic continuing through the morning. From three stories above, the snowy, commuter-filled roads looked like trays of tightly packed, brightly coloured biscuits dusted with flour and slowly warming in the sun.

John's stomach growled.

"All right, all right," he looked down and held his bare abdomen. He turned and walked away from the full-length windows toward the kitchen. "Pancakes it is."

After scrounging around the kitchenette for pots, pans, and ingredients, John set to work whisking up a batch of late morning flapjacks, eggs and bacon. Frying the bacon and eggs in one pan, he picked up the spatula and flipped the pancake over with an unfocused eye. He sighed and added more butter.

_"Dad?" _he could hear the voice of the metal-clad young man now. Images kept popping up in his head: the dark and gritty future, the information that most of them had died, his son . . . _"Hold the line!" _he had shouted during that first fight. So much like himself, it was frightening. _"I'm Warkhawk. Rex Stewart."_

"You're letting them burn."

John snapped out of his reverie to the smell of crisped batter and the touch of a woman's hand on his wrist. Mari took his hand holding the spatula and lifted what could be salvaged of the pancake onto a plate.

"Next time you decide to leave home on one of your space-out trips, let me know," she smiled at him. "Then I can make sure you don't set my house on fire while you're gone."

John scraped the burned leftovers off the bottom of the pan. "Sorry."

"Don't be," she answered. "I think it's worth the risk if I get you to make me breakfast." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I don't suppose I could convince you to let us have our breakfast in bed . . .?"

"Mari, it's almost noon now," he looked at her.

"So brunch then."

He put the plate of pancakes on the countertop of the bar in the kitchenette and went to work on his bacon. Mari pouted, but went to get the silverware and put it by the food.

"Still too early to put pants on though, I see," Mari commented as they began to eat their breakfast/brunch platters.

John blushed slightly. "Your heater does a good job."

"Thanks for the compliment," she gave him a peck on the cheek, but he did not seem to respond.

Mari sat back in her seat, adjusting her negligee as she picked at her eggs, preoccupied with John's preoccupation.

_"What are you supposed to do when you have the weight of the world on your shoulders?"_ It had just felt so natural for him to rest his hand on his shoulder, like he was really his son, and he, John, was really a father, and it was just so natural for him to try and guide him. It could not have been just a random shift in time—he really had a son with Shayera . . . the boy had her eyes . . . he was _supposed _to have a son with Shayera . . .

_"Then why are you still with Vixen?" _appeared Batman's voice, as unwelcome as ever in John's thoughts. John turned and looked at the woman next to him as she took a bite of her pancakes. The lavender satin negligee draped off her shoulders but was held up by her ample bust as she slouched her shoulders leaning over the counter as she ate. Resting her chin in one hand, her cinnamon eyes stared into her food distantly. The sunshine from the windows stretched from the other side of the room to illuminate her from behind, brushed with a fine trail of gold, as though painted. Her black lashes swept down to her cheeks as her full lips parted in an unvoiced sigh. Why was he still with her?

Was it right to be with Mari? Was he merely avoiding his destiny? Was he effectively _killing _his son by preventing his birth? John held his head with his hand, rubbing the smooth skin of his scalp as if he could soothe the turbulent thoughts rushing about.

He felt Mari get closer to him. "Boo, you okay?"

"I . . . just don't know," was all he could answer.

Mari put her hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. His head turned to her and, for a moment, an image of Rex flashed into his mind, looking so lost . . . his son . . .

Suddenly Mari grinned. "Let's go do something. Get out of here for a bit."

John looked away. "Where do we go?"

"Well, I've got a few hours before my photo shoot today," she pondered, lifting her hand from him and placing a finger on her chin, breaking the connection.

"But where can we _go_?"

Mari shrugged her shoulders and walked around the counter. Leaning forward on her elbows, nearly nose to nose with him, she said, "Wherever you'll be happy, John."

He blinked. "But . . . wh—"

"You always worry too much," Mari said. "You know, sometimes I think you forget what it's like to have fun anymore." She saw the downcast look in his eye and continued. "Look, I know this has been hard for you, everything that's happened. But you've got to keep moving forward. You managed to pull it off and put it aside when you had to go fight to save the world," she paused, pushed herself up further on the counter, and kissed his forehead. "So I know you can do it again; this time to save your spirit."

Her soft, brown eyes, normally so full of mischief, glinted a compassion and understanding he had somehow missed before.

She hopped off the counter, walking toward the door of the bedroom and slipping the straps of her negligee past her shoulders.

"What are you doing?" John asked as she stripped her way across the room, her impropriety snapping him out of his funk.

"Getting ready to suit up for the rescue mission," she glanced over her shoulder with an impish grin. "You coming?"

Not for the first time, the Vixen had left him torn between confusion, indignity, shock, and desire. "Do you ever take anything seriously?" he finally managed to say.

Vixen leaned a little on the doorframe before exiting. "That's what I've got you for. I'm just trying to lower the dosage."

* * *

Mark almost felt guilty for battling that old lady back at Toys 4 U . . . almost. Taking another glance at his brightly coloured, all-star covered, tightly packaged victory prize, he felt a deep sense of accomplishment; not everyone could hurdle over three people like that to make it to the end of aisle five in two bounds. He wondered why video game companies made their release dates so late sometimes.

_I mean, Christmas is just two weeks from today_, he thought as he stuffed the baseball game in his bag. _You'd think they could release it sometime late November._

Walking briskly down the snow strewn street, Mark pondered what to get his little missus. _Jess is always complaining about how slow the coffee maker is . . . or maybe she wants a new mixer . . ._ Up ahead he could hear happy laughter, and he began to slow down as he made his way through the pedestrian traffic to the source.

Through a spread of the snow-topped trees in the park, zipping children and twirling couples glided around the ice rink. Brightly coloured scarves flew behind as pairs circled round the ice, close together for warmth. Little boys whizzed past their older brothers, held back by snuggling girfriends, girls whirled in pirouettes and arabesques in the centre, and quiet couples slowly slid by. Mark stopped to sit on a bench beside the rink, taking in the holiday scene.

He heard a familiar laugh.

"You may have spent every winter learning how to slide down hills, but you sure can't skate."

"I thought you said we were going to do something _I _would like to do, Mari."

The two were not that far away, so close Mark could catch the embarrassment in the Lantern's eye, let alone his tone. Vixen extended a cream-coloured sweater-clad arm to the fallen hero. He held onto her with one hand while he dusted ice shavings from his pants and the back of his jacket.

"Oh, you _will _like this, I promise," Vixen smiled. "You just haven't gotten the hang of it, that's all."

"I swear, once I get myself out of these skate's I'll—"

"You'll what?" Vixen let him go and he fell promptly on his backside. She laughed again. "Honey, you ain't getting yourself nowhere."

"I may be down," GL rolled over, "but I'm not out yet!" Now on his stomach, he reached out his arms and yanked Vixen's leg. She fell on top of him with a surprised yelp.

"Un," Vixen rubbed her hip as she helped herself up using the wall of the rink. "Is that any way to treat a lady? Forcing her down on you like that?"

Green Lantern followed suit, though dragging himself up the wall with far less grace than his date. "Normally it's getting you to stop pouncing on me that's the problem."

"Oh, so we think we're all that then, huh?" Vixen looked evil. She held out her hand and began extending it toward his chest.

Anticipating what she was thinking, alarm flared up in the Lantern's eyes. "No, Mari! Don't—"

"Eat ice, tough guy," she tapped him with her palm and the Green Lantern, protector of the universe, fell on his butt with a thud.

"Mari, you little—when I get you—"

"You've got to catch me first," she teased, laughing as she sashayed away over the ice.

GL pulled himself up the wall again, turning around to watch the circle of skaters lap around the rink. "Oh, I'll catch you. You gotta come back sometime," his eyes followed her as she made the far turn, and his lips curled into a smile. "And when you do, I'll be ready."

Mark smiled too as he leaned back into the bench, watching the pair. After the cold snowstorms of yesterday, the sunshine and warm laughter were welcome scenery to him, and he still had the rest of the day to do his shopping. Watching as Vixen finished her lap and was caught in a quick lunge by Green Lantern, he pondered as the two skidded to the centre of the rink, still in a tangled embrace. He turned his head to look at the street and the shops behind him, his eyes focusing on the Jay's Jewels entrance.

* * *

_Well, it's no mixer, _he thought. _But it's never too late to get romantic again._

_So won't you tell me you'll never more roam_

_Christmas and New Year's will find you home_

_There'll be no more sorrow, no grief and pain_

_And I'll be happy, happy once again_


	4. Oi to the World

Oi to the World

* * *

"C'mon, punk," the young man gave a feral grin through the darkness. "Show me whatcha got."

Flanking him on both sides, three other boys pulled out their weapons, swiping and swinging them menacingly as they drew closer.

The night sky was patched with thick clouds, and the rooftop was only dimly lit by the moon cresting over the skyscrapers. The snow from the previous day had melted, leaving only a few patches around the outer edges of the space. The snow mounds gleamed with the knives and nun chucks in the night, along with the metal studs and spikes worn in the jackets of the group. The steel toes of Trevor's boots flashed as he came to the fore.

"What? Little Haji scared?"

"Don't call me Haji," Hablani growled, drawing closer to his boys. The group of them tensed as Trevor's group closed in.

"I'll call you what I want. 'Sides, why'd you wear that stupid turban if you didn't wanna be called that?"

Hablani did not grace that question with an answer. His own group in their patchwork denim and tattered shirts tightened their fists angrily, but remained where they were, following their leader's example.

"Anyway, you shouldn't a' brought your little boy band on our turf, Haj," Trevor jabbed the name back at him. "You know you gotta stay on your side, and Mel's is our joint. Thought you'd be smarter than cross the line and play your crappy music there. But then, guess you can't expect much from a wannabe Punk."

"Don't let him get to you, guys," Hablani said to his band. "He's just too afraid to fight when the stakes are even. He'd rather beat on kids four 'gainst one."

The nun chucks shot out and bashed into the boy on Hablani's left. There was a cracking sound followed by a screech as he collapsed to the ground, holding his hand over his eye as a stream of blood trickled down his face and dribbled onto his jean jacket.

"Dan!" Hablani cried as the boy lost consciousness. He turned to Trevor with a snarl.

"I don't need the guys to take you out. I can take all four a' you myself." Those beside Trevor looked at him, confused. "Well, all right," Trevor shrugged. "I won't spoil your fun."

The moonlit grins spread.

Hablani and his boys backed away slowly, except for Dan, who moaned softly, still down and holding his hand over the bloody side of his face. The rooftop was not spacious; there were smokestacks, antennae, a rooftop exit, and any number of entrapments casting shadows on the group of punks. Wedged between the obstacles, they had no choice but to pull out their knives and chains.

"Aw, look, guys," Trevor sneered, swinging his nun chucks idly. "The boys wanna play after all."

Their bare scalps gleamed as they passed a small patch of light in their approach. One of Trevor's boys put on a pair of brass knuckles. "I get Lady Liberty over there," he pointed to a boy on Hablani's left sporting crown of blue spikes for hair.

"Knock yourself out," Trevor answered his fellow Skin. "But Haji there's mine."

Hablani responded to the threat by pulling out his knife. Spanning about a foot long, Hablani hoped it was threatening enough to hold off most of Trevor's goons from his friends.

"Heh, lookie here," Trevor smiled. "Punk's got a sword like that Doom Temple movie," the nun chucks shot out a second time, this time slamming into Hablani's gut, causing the boy to hunch over slightly and take a few steps back. "Think it'll do him any good, guys?" Trevor laughed.

"I'm tired of this!" the boy with liberty spikes shouted to Hablani. "Let's get 'em now and get this over with!" he charged the Skin with the brass knuckles, whirling his chains in the air and making contact with the other boy's face.

"Kurt!" Trevor shouted to his friend, but was promptly cut short by a sharp pain in his arm. Hablani wrenched his knife out roughly as Trevor grunted, wounded, and the rest of the groups flew together in melee.

The sounds of knuckles pounding flesh and metal cracking bone continued as, through shadows of the rooftop, flashes of weapons and flecks of blood escaping into the light were all that could be seen.

In the confusion, Dan managed to pull himself to a crawl as he heard a different sound rise up to meet them. One short stop to distinguish the noise was all he needed.

"Dude, it's the cops!"

All fighting ceased for a moment until it registered. Then the young men scattered, some scrambling down the fire escape, others leaping to the taller buildings in the area, looking for another way out. The only ones remaining were the two instigators.

Hablani limped up from the ground, his left leg having been snapped by another of Trevor's attacks. He watched as his friends abandoned the fight for the safety of the darkness, then turned to Trevor, who still lay on the ground.

Trevor clutched his arm, the blood mostly unseen on his dark jacket, but starkly obvious on his hand where he held the injury. His face was drained pale, but fiercely defiant of his pain. He slowly made his way up, releasing the wound to grab his weapon.

"So, we gonna finish it?" Hablani frowned, kicking Trevor back down. "Or will you let a few cops keep you from making good on all that big talk?"

Trevor let out a yelp of pain as he fell on his bad arm.

Hablani stepped beside his form and looked down to him with contempt. Leaning down and forcing his skull back with a large, brown hand, he held the long knife up to his chin, the point just barely scraping the flesh. "Wanna make fun a' me now, baldie?"

A sharp clank, and the knife was thrown from Hablani's hand, skidding past a snow pile half way across the rooftop and into the darkness.

Hablani searched the area with alarm, but found no one. The police sirens had passed: a chase, and nothing more. But this—Hablani could still feel someone up there with him.

"Call off your bros," he demanded of Trevor. "We do this one on one."

"Kiss . . . off," Trevor gasped out.

Hablani slammed his head down into the concrete, then leapt to a ready stance. "You wanna play too, huh?" he shouted to the darkness. "Then come 'n get some!"

He began eying the ground around him, searching for his knife. The moonlight and shadows cast alternating patterns with the dark rooftop and the leftover snow, a gleam and then dark. Still tensed, Hablani backed up bit by bit, keeping an eye out for sight of his blade or any other movement that might betray the unknown party. Waiting and listening, the patches of moonlight crossed over his form as he carefully stepped backward, in and out of the shadows.

"If you're trying to scare me, it won't wor—" his sentence stopped cold as the shadow he backed into became solid. He whirled quickly to see two dark arms pick him up by the collar and two angry eyes boring into him.

"I've had a late night," the shadow spoke in a gruff voice. "I'd rather not spend the rest of it babysitting."

Hablani was promptly dropped on his backside while the shadow still loomed over him. His eyes wide, Hablani did the only thing he could think of: run.

Hoping to seek refuge behind the roof exit wall, Hablani raced across the rooftop, leapt over Trevor's writhing form, and crouched behind the small building. Being unarmed, Hablani grabbed Trevor by the leg and pulled his body toward him, pulling the nun chucks from his hands when he was close enough. Panting in fear and exertion, Hablani held the weapon at the ready.

"I'm not in the mood for games."

Hablani gasped and looked above him to the top of the entrance door. Now partially exposed in the moonlight, he could see the Batman peering down at him. With a swift movement of his cape, he leapt down and stood before him, his narrowed eyes scanning from Hablani to Trevor. If anything, now he looked even more threatening upon seeing Trevor.

"Clean him up and then go home," the Batman said.

Hablani could do nothing but stare in awe and terror.

"Now," he barked.

Snapping to, Hablani could only fumble out a "Y-yes, sir," as he pulled off his turban and wrapped it around Trevor's wounded arm as quickly as he could. Not even bothering to look up, Hablani grabbed the Skin by the waist and threw him over his shoulder searching desperately for the fastest way off that rooftop. Not seeing the fire escape anywhere near, he grabbed the rest of his headpiece and repelled off the side of the building, not bothering to even finish the last ten feet before jumping down and racing as fast as he could down the alley.

Batman shook his head and looked toward where the sirens had headed. Seeing the perpetrator already caught and cuffed by Montoya, he shot his grapple into the air and allowed himself that small private smile he gave whenever he saw that the Gotham police force could do the major jobs without him-some of the time.

* * *

"A late night again, sir?" Alfred asked, concerned as Bruce hopped out of the Batmobile. "What was it this time? Thieves? Arson?"

"Worse," Bruce grunted. "Kids. Fighting over music styles and territory," he said with distaste.

"Oh dear," Alfred responded, taking the cowl and cape from him and folding them nicely as Bruce walked toward the entrance in his bathrobe and boxers. "Shall I assume then you're not in the mood for me to draw your bath?"

"I'm going to bed."

"As I suspected, sir. Good night, then."

Bruce gave a back-handed wave as he finished scaling the stairs and entered the manor. He closed the clock entrance to the cave as it chimed six, the eastern dawn light just barely peeking into the room through the tall windows. Crossing the room, he squinted as he passed through the light until he reached the dark staircase to the bedrooms and ascended. His tired face now set in a frown, he wondered irritably why the corridor to his room had to be so long.

The rich carpeting and dark wood panels of the wall passed slowly as he trudged onward, stopping only when he heard a strange noise. He identified the place of origin to be Tim's room and opened the door a crack to peek inside.

". . . but I just don't know what to get him," Tim was vehemently stressing. "I mean, I got Barb the smelly stuff from that girly Bathe Your Body Works place, and I got Dick stuff for his bike, but him . . ." the boy sighed, frustrated. "That's why I figured I'd ask you. Could you mind zap him and tell me what he wants for Christmas?"

Within the boy's room, Bruce could just make out through the crack Tim sitting on the floor, still in his pyjamas. Across from him on the floor also was J'onn, back in his green humanoid form and leaning against the side of a cushy armchair rather than sitting in it. The two were nearly eye-level with each other as Tim knelt on his knees, moving the brightly wrapped boxes under his bed.

"That hardly seems necessary," J'onn answered, his red eyes flashing, "as it does not particularly matter to him what he receives. He is merely grateful to have you here."

"Well that's sweet and all," Tim frowned, crossing his arms, "but that still doesn't give me any gift ideas."

"Why don't you just ask him yourself?" J'onn's eyes glowed in the direction of the door.

"What? Are you kidding?" Tim missed the hint. "I can't just ask him what he wants. That'd ruin the—"

"Surprise," Bruce entered, startling the boy. J'onn watched him passively. "What are you doing up here so early?" He looked from one to the other. "Both of you?"

"Alfred let them spend the night," Tim smiled a smile that Bruce guessed was most likely caused by his success in begging Alfred to let him have his superhero slumber party.

"Wait . . . them?"

"Oh yeah," Tim said. "We let Wonder Woman have your room." Taking in his ruffled expression, Tim continued with a sly look. "That's okay, right?"

Bruce did not answer, but turned on his heel and made his way out the door. Before closing it behind him, he glanced over his shoulder. "Just be sure you make it to school on time since you're up early for once."

Tim huffed, but gave a small salute of understanding. "Yes, sir."

Satisfied, Bruce shut the door and walked down the hall, anticipating what or whom he might find in his sheets.

* * *

_This house is so big_, she thought, not for the first time. Heavy drapes guarded the perimeter of the windows behind her, the glass panels left revealed, separated by black strips, almost bars. Despite the edges of sunlight entering the space, it still appeared dark and gaping with its high ceilings and shadowed reaches.

Her bare feet sank into the deep carpet as she walked toward the brightening day. Adjusting the towel around her hair before she crossed her arms to keep herself warm from the draughty chill in the place, she took in the rising sun over the water. Rose and marigold kissed the water's top, lighting a path across the sea to the shore, a step on every shining olive wave.

Diana took a small, smiling breath. "Mother always said she planned her garden after Eos' gown," she commented on the lively colours of the dawn. For some reason, the brightness of it stood out more to her when she was here than it ever did on Themyscira.

The door behind her clicked open, and her musings were cut short with the entrance of Bruce.

"Good, you're up too," he said gruffly.

"I wanted to see the sunrise. You have a wonderful view here," she looked to him with an inviting eye.

"You get used to it," he narrowed his eyes in the light. He cut across the room, just out of reach from the bright, square patterns the sunshine threw inside. He punched the buttons on the alarm clock for 10:00 before shouldering himself from his robe. Halfway through undressing, as though he had just remembered, he turned to Diana.

"If you don't mind," he indicated the door.

Her lips formed a petulant bud. "Not at all," she remained stationary.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at her but decided against starting a new argument; it was far too early and he was far too exhausted. He pulled the covers over himself and rolled over, facing away from her.

Diana followed suit, turning her back on him to watch the rest of the sunrise, but irritably found it already finished. A peeved look at his form under the blankets, she slammed the door on her way out.

Wandering down the hallways, Diana felt a chill as she passed by, despite the warmly coloured rugs and tapestries in shades of red and gold insulating the place. Attributing the cold to her damp hair, she could not help but be unsettled, as she could not remember being cold anywhere else in her time in Man's World, regardless of how little she wore on her missions. And now, in long sleeves and pants, she crossed her arms for heat. Her footsteps echoed down the large staircase to the main room, which, in spite of the morning sunshine, still held a dim shade of dreariness. Upon reaching the base of the steps, she stopped at the appearance of a new sound.

In the corner of the room where the fresh tree from yesterday's excursion stood, a thin figure crouched below the bottom branches, fanning a red and green fabric around the base. A few nettles dropped as the figure swayed side to side, a soft noise drifting from him: an untuned tenor strain of something marvellous and pure, but withheld and secretive—a private joy, nurturing and caring, and so gentle and subtle one could barely hear it, yet its presence was everywhere effervescent.

"Alfred?"

The little man jumped at the sound, smacking his head on the lower branches of the tree before rising from his position. Straightening out the last of the tree skirt, he looked slightly abashed.

"Princess, I-I wasn't expecting—what are—my, you're up early," he settled on a greeting.

"What were you doing?" she tilted her head in curiosity.

"Doing? Well, I . . ." Alfred loosened his collar, slightly flushed at being caught, "Just an old tune I—well, I-I was just putting the tree skirt down."

Diana narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but let it slide. "I see. This is one of the decorations you talked about?"

"Well, I suppose," he said, calming down as she crossed the room toward the tree. "But this isn't exactly what I was talking about. I planned on putting up the real decorations together—all of us—later."

"Good luck with that," she responded dryly, pinching one of the boughs of the tree and examining it with a distracted eye. She sighed. "I honestly don't know why I thought he could be of any help anyway . . ."

"True, he seems a hopeless humbug now," Alfred put a hand on her shoulder in comfort, "but just wait. He comes around."

"Yes," she looked to the ground, "but I'm not sure it'll be soon enough to help me." She swept her arm from the tree, indicating the bough and the skirt. "I want to know what this is, what it's all about. Even if I can't understand the religion, and the traditions, the feeling, the spirit just seems so . . . wonderful. But I just . . . I can't . . ."

"It's all right. It'll be all right," Alfred gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, before his eyes suddenly sparked with inspiration.

Seeing this, she questioned, "What is it, Alfred?"

"Why, my dear," he smiled. "I believe I've got just the thing. It will take some convincing but I believe I can . . . yes . . ." he plotted to himself.

"You can what?"

"You don't mind formal dress, do you?" he asked as he headed excitedly up the stairs from which she came.

"No, why?" she called after him. "What in Hera's—what is it about this house that makes everyone go insane?"

* * *

_Ring_.

His eyes drowsily fluttered opened to his clock not yet struck ten and his telephone ringing so violently it appeared it would fall off the nightstand.

_Ring_.

He frowned and willed it stop with a grumble and the closing of his eyes.

_Ring_.

He turned over, drawing the blankets tighter around him, willing harder.

_Ring_.

"Hello," he ground out.

_"My, aren't we cranky this morning. Have too much fun last night, Brucie?"_

"Ronnie?"

_"The one and only. You sound awfully tired; paint the town red last night?"_

"You know me," Bruce put on his best carefree attitude. "Always looking for fun."

_"That's the Brucie I know and love, always the party boy. Speaking of which, I've got great news!"_

"Let me guess, you're throwing another one of your legendary get-togethers?"

_"Oh, not just legendary this time. This time it'll be the global event of the century! I wanted to call you early to make sure you could check your schedule, but I trust you'll make time for Christmas Eve?"_

"I'll see what I can do. I wouldn't want to miss one of your parties for the world."

_"I understand you may be busy, but please try to come. There'll be some big names coming—huge, really—but it just wouldn't be a Vreeland party without good old Brucie."_

"All right, I'll try and make it."

_"Okay, see you there then. You won't regret it."_

"Goodbye, Veronica."

_"'Bye, Brucie!"_

He hung up the phone with a satisfying click. His arm slithered back into the covers as the quiet of the room began to lull him back. His eyes drifted as he turned and relaxed his muscles for that elusive prize of dreamless, restful sle—

_Beep_. _Beep_. _Beep_.

His fist slammed down on the blaring alarm clock, and the flashing 10:00 dimmed.

"Mmrn," he mumbled into his pillow.

* * *

_If God came down on Christmas Day_

_I know exactly what He'd say_

_He'd say "Oi to the punks, and Oi to the skins,_

_And Oi to the world and everybody wins!"_


	5. That Christmas Feeling

That Christmas Feeling

* * *

Whizzing down the halls of the Metro Tower, the fastest man alive slowed only partially to smile at the other League members he passed. His speed was hindered only slightly by the large stack of papers he carried in front of him as he made his way to the end of the corridor.

Upon reaching the entrance to the main console room, he struggled to relieve one hand to punch the necessary buttons. Precariously balanced in the crook of his left arm, he was just barely able to peek around the side of the pile as his fingers tapped the necessary code. The doors whooshed open and Flash gave a small sigh of relief as he now securely gripped the bulk and began to speed across the room. He was rather surprised that with his luck, he had not dropped a single—

"Oof!" he fell backwards onto his backside, papers flying everywhere. Through the shower of sheets, the shapely form of Supergirl now loomed over him. She leaned down and gave him a hand to help him up.

"You should watch where you're going, Flash," she smiled.

"Yeah, sorry," he said abashedly, embarrassed as all eyes in the room had turned to see him fall. He quickly snatched up all the papers back into a pile in a blur of red and white.

"What are all the papers for anyway?" she quirked an eyebrow at him.

The pile back in place, his face was hidden when he answered, "They're an 'I'm sorry' present for a friend."

"Oh? Who's it for?" Gypsy sashayed over to them. Her earrings jingled as she tilted her head curiously. "And who would want a plain old stack of papers?"

"It's not gonna be a plain old stack when I'm done," Flash pointed out defensively.

"Aww, he's gonna make something for her! How cute!" Supergirl squealed, attracting more attention.

"Hey, I never said—"

"Flash is going to make a present?" Crimson Fox sauntered to the group.

Fire and Ice appeared as well, completing the circle around the speedster. "Who is the lucky lady?"

"Hnbaee . . ." Flash's tongue rolled over itself at Fire's question.

The girls blinked at his response.

"I bet it's for Black Canary," Gypsy continued, ignoring their incoherent topic. "I heard he hit on her on their last mission."

"If that's true, he should be making a present for Green Arrow," Supergirl laughed.

"What are you making with all this paper anyway?" Ice peered around the pile to look him in the eye.

"Dn—I—nm, ah . . . sn—" he struggled as the ladies closed in around him to hear his answer. From behind the edges of the stack, he felt his resolve failing under the curious, pressing gazes; cool blues, slate greys, and fiery greens all surrounded him, boring into him. "Sn-snowflakes," he hung his head in defeat.

"Snowflakes?" Supergirl looked at him incredulously.

"How banal," Crimson Fox commented.

Gypsy giggled. "You're kidding, right?"

"I don't know, I think it's kind of cute," Fire winked at him.

Ice crossed her arms. "Yeah, but out of paper?"

"Well, not everyone can create the genuine article, Ice," Supergirl shrugged.

"I can't remember the last time someone made me a present," Fire moved her gaze from Flash to Ice.

Crimson Fox put a hand on her hip. "If you ask me, it's hardly an appropriate gift for an apology."

"Yeah, especially with your reputation for ticking girls off," Gypsy agreed. "If you got to her so bad that you need to get her a present, you'd better make it a big one."

Flash seemed to process this information, scrunching his face in thought, before asking, "Well, what do you think I should do then? Flowers? Candy?"

"Oh, no, no," Crimson Fox brushed the suggestions aside. "So typical—besides, those are for making her fall for you. Apologies have to be far grander than little love trinkets, don't they, ladies?" she looked to the other women in the group for confirmation. They all nodded in agreement. Crimson Fox gave a satisfied smile.

"So then what do I do?"

"An apology to a woman has to be a complete act of humility," Crimson Fox spoke as though she were quoting from a religious text. "Arts and crafts won't cut it. Her forgiveness cannot be won with anything short of spectacular."

Flash looked confused. "So I should . . ."

"Try something a little further up the price range. Opera tickets, a trip to Paris, _something_. You get a super heroine mad at you, you'd better have a super apology."

He tilted his head as fragments of the idea started to solidify. He set down the papers to be able to look all of his audience face to face. "So you girls got any places on your wish list I can use?"

* * *

"This is ridiculous," Bruce peered over the heads in front of them as they moved up one place in the queue.

"You were of a different opinion when the idea was first introduced."

"I was tired," came his curt response. ". . . of all of Alfred's blasted—this isn't going to work."

"It might be worth trying," J'onn continued. "The fond memories I felt both from him and yourself may be proof enough to—"

"Could you ask permission first before you go sifting through my head?" Bruce whispered harshly.

"Sorry."

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Bruce persisted, staring stonily at the long line in front of him. "I mean, what will a bunch of twirling around in fancy costumes prove? It's not going to help you or Diana understand anything any better. This is just a waste of time."

"Well bah humbug to you too."

"What?" Bruce whirled round to a shock of red hair and a wide grin.

"Hey, Ba—uh, Bruce. Can I have cuts?"

"Wally," Bruce greeted coldly. "What are you doing here?"

The younger man remained unshaken, nonchalantly adjusting the sleeve of his light blue sweater as he slid into the space between Bruce and J'onn. The queue moved forward, none the wiser. "Same as you."

"I never took you for the ballet type," Bruce lifted an eyebrow.

"I'm not. This is a present," Wally answered.

"For Shayera?" J'onn asked in that manner that indicated he already knew.

"Shayera?" Bruce looked incredulous. "I don't think she'd be very interested, no matter how well-meant a Christmas present it is."

"It's not really a Christmas present," Wally explained. "It's a kind of 'I'm sorry I screwed up and made you really mad' present."

"So? You do that all the time. You never gave any gifts before for that."

"Well, this time I think I've _really _done it."

"You've always _really _done it. Shayera's a big girl," Bruce commented patronisingly. "I'm sure she's not broken up about it."

"She seemed pretty upset to me," Wally insisted. "And I'd feel a lot better if I did something to try and make it right again."

"What did you do?"

"I . . . uh, kinda said that maybe she . . ." Wally put a hand to his mouth and coughed out quickly, "isn't-trusted-'cause-she-doesn't-want-to-be."

"I believe that constitutes as having 'really done it'," J'onn stated.

"I know, I know," Wally looked guilty. "Me and my big dumb mouth. But this is gonna make it all better."

"Hate to spoil your perfect plan," Bruce said dryly, "but I'm not sure Shayera has much interest in ballet."

"Why not?" Wally asked. "I mean, it's the Nutcracker; it's Christmassy and stuff. Plus girls like ballet."

"In case you hadn't noticed," Bruce gave a pointed look, "Shayera isn't exactly the most feminine of the female members in the league."

"Well . . . that—that doesn't mean she can't like girl stuff sometimes," Wally fumbled. "And maybe she just, uh, just maybe never gets a chance to be feminine. Yeah."

J'onn pondered. "Perhaps Wally is right that we have not treated Shayera in a manner which allows her to be more . . . womanly." The word sounded awkward. "But I must agree that, from what I've picked up, this activity is not one she would enjoy."

"You don't know that," Wally argued. "I mean, she's never tried it, right? She could—she could like it." His confidence faltered.

Bruce shook his head irritably as the group finally reached the front of the queue. He turned to face the box office window.

"How much are these things anyway?" Wally tilted his head to check the price listings behind the glass. His eyes widened in fear.

"Three, please," Bruce said blandly to the window.

"Hey," the redhead tapped him on the shoulder nervously, "y'think you could buy 'em all together now and I'll, ah, pay you back later?"

Bruce ignored him.

"Aw, come on. It's not that dumb an idea," Wally pleaded. "I mean, the more the merrier, right?"

He was answered by a disbelieving glance.

"C'mon, don't you wanna do something nice? For Shayera?" his voice was getting desperate.

Bruce grumbled in annoyance. "Fine."

"What?" Wally's eyes brightened at his quick acquiescence. "All right!" he pumped his fist victoriously.

"Four please."

Leaning over by J'onn and looking smug, Wally gave a self-assured smile before the math clicked in his head.

"Hey, wait, I'm coming too!"

Bruce gave him a glare. "You must be joking."

Wally tried to counter with as good an imitation bat-glare as he could muster. The two stood locked in an unblinking battle as the clerk at the window began to look bored after the fifth time asking, "Will that be all sir?"

Still they glared.

J'onn sighed, stepped around the showdown, and slapped a hand on the counter in front of the window, waking the attendant from his reverie. "Make it five."

* * *

_Thunk._

"Hraaaaah!"

_Thunk. Fwap. Thunk._

"Hraah! Huhn! Hraaaaah!"

_Fwap. Fwap. Thunk._

"Hnn! Huhn! Hraah!"

_Thunk._

"Hnnraaaaah!"

The full-sized punching bag swung through the air, slightly concave on one side. Panting with a sweaty grimace on her face, she raised her fist again.

"Y'scare off all the other dance partners? Or this a solo routine?"

She halted her attack at the new sound and turned to the door. Vigilante tipped his hat.

"Then again, y'have a nasty habit a' tryin' t'do things all by yer lonesome."

"If you want to use the gym," Shayera turned around again and gave the bag another fist, "I'll be done in five minutes."

"Didn't come 'ere to ruffle yer feathers, ma'am," he raised his hands defensively, "Jus' came t'put things at rest."

She looked at him stonily. "What do you want?"

"Wanted t'show ya somethin'," she could almost see a smile underneath the red bandana. He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to her, crossing his arms in a satisfied manner.

"Got myself certified in the Javelin," he beamed. "Thought I'd show y'first. What?" he asked at her unreadable expression. "Think I'm mule-stupid enough t'pick a fight with ya? Jus' provin' I finally learned when t'reset the vectors."

She handed the certificate back to him. "Congratulations," the statement was flat.

"Thank y'ma'am," he rolled it up, watching her as she resumed her attack on the unoffending punching bag.

She gave the bag two more punches and a kick before she realised she was not going to be rid of him that easily. "Anything else?"

"Well, now that y'mention it," he walked over to one side of the room and sat himself down on a bench, relaxing his arms on the backing, "I was hopin' for a little chat."

"So talk."

"Now, now," she almost saw a hint of mischief in his eye, "If y'aint in a mood t'listen, I ain't really in a mood fer talkin'." He scooted to one side of the bench, leaving plenty of room for her.

Shayera rolled her eyes, but, figuring the quickest way to get him out of her hair would be to get it over with, crossed her arms and sat down beside him. "Yes?" she said in a tone slightly less harsh.

"That's better," Vigilante nodded. He paused, as if to contemplate the exact words he wanted to use. "I know I wasn't the best t'work with, what with me bitin' yer head off ever' other word, but hear me out—"

"You don't have to apologise for anything you said," Shayera looked to the floor. "I know I deserved som—a lot of it. I—"

"Dagnabit, girl, lemme finish! I ain't apologisin' fer nothin' I said; I meant it all." She looked surprised at his outburst. "I don't like y', and I don't think that's gonna change none soon."

"Vigilante . . ." she began quietly.

"But jus' 'cuz I don't like y'don't mean I can't respect y'."

Shayera blinked. "Come again?"

"Don't git the wrong idea, but I guess I done been thinkin' 'bout what y'said," the gunslinger shrugged. "Y'know, 'bout understandin', and I figur'd 'cuz 'tis the season an' all, maybe I should try it out."

"Vig—I . . ." she formed a sideways smile, her eyes soft. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_," he emphasised, "fer provin' me wrong 'bout y'. Y'aint a traitor if y'stand fer what y'believe in. Guess since I got my eye so close t'the barrel all the time," he whipped out a pistol and put it to his face as though he were aiming at her, "can't see much outside the line'a fire."

Shayera smiled fully now and put a hand on his shoulder. "Good job on your pilot certification. Really."

"T'ain't nothin'," she could not tell if he was blushing or not beneath the bandana. He stood up quickly, changing the subject. "Y'happy jus' beatin' up on the bag, or y'still feel like takin' a swing at me?"

She smirked as he gave a hand to help her up. "That's okay, Vigilante. I wouldn't want to bruise your fragile ego." She grabbed a towel from the rack and slung it across her shoulders as she made her way to the exit. "I'm gonna hit the showers. See ya, cowboy."

"Ma'am," Vigilante lifted his hat.

* * *

The steam hissed as it poured out the opening doors. She towelled down her hair first, then followed the droplets' course down her body. Her wings puffed up, arced, and shuddered, sending a spray behind her. After securing the towel around herself, Shayera wrung out her hair with her hands as she made her way to the residence quarters.

Her feet padded softly as she thought. It had been an unexpected compliment Vigilante had given her, but, now that she began to think on it, his presence reminded her of the mission they had been on and, subsequently, the Thanagarians. _Everything always goes back to that, doesn't it?_

They hated her, she knew. _But who could blame them? I condemned them all to death_, she thought as she entered the elevator. She pushed the button for her floor with a sigh. _Condemned him to death. Hro . . . you changed so much. There was a time when you'd never do anything to endanger the lives of the defenceless. But you were willing to sacrifice the entire planet—and in the end, were willing to sacrifice yourself . . ._

The doors opened, and Shayera crossed an arm over herself from the slight wind they generated. Her hair dripped onto her shoulder as she continued down the hall. _I must be the worst soldier in the universe_, she thought morosely. _I single-handedly delivered the entire Thanagarian Empire into the hands of the Gordanians. Maybe I should have surrendered myself to Paran Dul_, her eyes looked downcast. She finally stopped at her door, but hesitated to punch the code for access.

_But if I had, would that have made anything better? If I'd been gone, would the battle have turned out differently? Would the league have been able to take down Luthor and Brainiac if all seven of us hadn't been there? _She absent-mindedly pushed the buttons for her door to open._If I wasn't there, would we have been able to save Wa—what in seven moons?_

Suspended at varying lengths from the ceiling of her room, dozens of wispy snowflakes circled and swayed on their strings. Some had sharp triangles and jagged cuts around their edges, giving them a hard, icy image, while others were rounded, with curved and spiral shapes, giving them a look of lace. They spanned from one side of the room to the other, an artificial snowfall of delicate craftsmanship. In the centre, hanging slightly lower than the paper precipitation, a banner with bold letters arced its message down.

"'Sorry'?" Shayera read, bewildered.

"SURPRISE!"

Shayera had barely let out a yelp before she jumped and smacked the intruder square on the jaw. Barely managing to hold her towel on, she breathed heavily, recovering from the shock.

"Oww . . ." Flash lay at her feet, rubbing his jaw. He looked as though he were about give some quip, but his eyes widened for a moment at the view his new position gave him, and he scuttled himself up stammering.

This did little to improve her temperament. "I knew that lock override thing was a bad idea. First Diana and now this," her brow gave an irritated twitch. "What are you doing in my room?"

"What's it look like?" he gestured to the 'Sorry' streamer.

She brushed a wet strand of hair from her face. "Couldn't you have just talked to me, like Vigilante did?" she muttered. "Sure, he told me he hates my guts, but at least he would respect my privacy."

"What?"

"Never mind. Say what you need to say and then get out; I want to put my clothes on."

Flash blushed at the last statement, barely hidden by his mask. "Well . . . it's kind of a long—"

"Just wait outside and I'll change first," Shayera groaned, grabbing him by the arm and chucking him out the door.

Flash barely managed to pull his nose out of the way as the door closed. "Oookay, maybe four days isn't enough time to calm down . . ." he thought out loud. He tapped his fingers on the wall nervously. "Maybe I just gotta try a different approach. Maybe a—"

The door opened again, Shayera clad in a long-sleeved black shirt and blue jeans. "You can explain now," she walked back inside her room with an attitude that told him to follow. Once inside, she put her hands to her hips and gave a scowl. "Start talking."

Flash rubbed a hand behind his neck and looked away. "Well, see, you were really mad on Saturday after the orphanage thingie 'cause of what I said, so I thought I'd do something nice to say I'm sorry."

"That's it?" she raised an eyebrow and her face started to soften. "That wasn't a long story at all. Um, accepted, I guess . . . though I don't know what I'm going to do with all these sn—"

"Well, that's not all of it," Flash continued rapidly. "When I was gonna put these up, some of the girls—well, I figured I should do something more, so I changed out and went to Gotham and met Bats and we stood in line and he was all angry like normal and said it was a bad idea, but I said it would work and he said you weren't feminine and J'onn said we never let you and Bats said it wouldn't work and I said it would and I asked how much the tickets were and they were a lot so I got Bats to buy tickets for us."

". . . Huh?" Shayera blinked.

"So then I changed back 'cause I like my secret identity and all around here 'cause girls like that stuff and I cut out all the snowflakes but I messed up some of them 'cause I was doing them so fast since I heard you were training and didn't think I'd have much time to do them then I hung 'em all up and waited for you to come here but then you were all angry and wouldn't let me explain and—"

"Enough!" she stopped him from running out of air. "I get the snowflake stuff. What tickets are you talking about?"

"These."

He pulled out two white slips from somewhere she was not sure she wanted to find out. She took one and looked at it.

"Gotham Theatre of the Fine Arts: Annual Nutcracker Performance, December seventeenth?" she looked sceptical. "Nutcracker? Sounds painful. Is it a fight?"

Flash laughed. "Nutcr-painful-hehe. That's a good one. Nah, it's a ballet."

Shayera scanned her memory for knowledge the term she might have picked up when she researched Earth.

Seeing her blank expression, Flash intervened. "It's a kind of dance. Y'know, tutus and tippie-toes."

"Is it exciting?" Shayera asked curiously.

"Uh . . ." Flash tried not to lie. "It's . . . interesting . . . and Christmassy . . ." he suggested.

"If you don't like it, why did you get tickets?"

"Look, I just wanted to make you not mad at me," Flash shrugged his shoulders. "I figured I'd do something nice and maybe help you out with the holiday stuff, since you said you don't really understand it."

Shayera furrowed her brow in thought. "Is this the present you said you'd explain when we were at the orphanage?"

"Present I said I'd expl—oh! Oh. No, this is just an 'I should've kept my big mouth shut' present. Hn. I guess I have to get you another one too . . ."

"Wally, you don't have t—"

"No, I gotta! I mean, it's Christmas. It's just what you do."

"So," she handed back the ticket slowly. "I have to give presents too?"

"Well, you don't have to," Wally said. "If you want to, I guess. It's not like a rule or anything, it's just a tradition, really."

"So this annual Nutcracker thing is a tradition too?"

"In a way, I guess. I mean, it's really popular—the line went on forever! I was lucky Bats was there to give me cuts and when they got the tickets it was good that all five of them could be together—"

"Five? Who else is going?"

Flash halted his rambling. "Oh, well, since Batman was getting the tickets, we'd be sitting with him and J'onn and I think the Princess."

"So it's not a date then," she sounded relieved.

"You thought—I—and m—on a date?" he stuttered, then blinked back into his normal grin. "Would you have gone if it was?"

She looked at him with a sly smile. "You'd have to be a lot more convincing in order to get me to go."

"Hey," he said indignantly, but brushed it off quickly. "Well, anyway, you're coming? It's on Saturday."

"I suppose I'm not doing anything since I've got all this time off," she answered. "Except maybe scraping these snowflakes off my ceiling. Now get out of my room. I'm already spending a disgusting amount of time with you," she put on her best pretend angry voice.

"Okay, okay," he stepped out. "Saturday, seven o' clock," he said with a grin, loud enough to be heard down the corridor. She could see the look in his eyes that was a telltale sign that he was doing something childish purposely to annoy or humiliate her. "It's a date!"

"It is not!" she shouted as the door whizzed closed. She put a hand to her head in exasperation, but could not contain a slight smile.

"Yom shigureth," she chuckled to herself.

* * *

_Christmas helps you to remember_

_To do what other folks hold dear_

_What a blessed place the world would be_

_If we had that Christmas feeling all year_


	6. A Marshmallow World

Α Marshmallow World

* * *

The keys landed with a jangle and a thud as they dropped onto the coffee table. Black heels were pulled off, carelessly kicked under the couch to be forgotten until the sun rose next. Toes in dark stockings breathed freedom before sinking into the deep taupe carpet. The satin-lined overcoat slumped over the rounded back of the barstool, discarded and ignored for the rest of the night. Or morning, depending on one's outlook.

Lana pulled her hair down from her stylised up-do, shiny russet cascades falling down her back as the clock chimed once. She gave it a withering glance, grateful her day tomorrow looked relatively free in the morning. "The night is young, after all," she smiled, but it quickly faded. "Nowhere to go though."

She walked over to the kitchen, her eyes flicking over to the large, rounded window under a barrage of splattered snow. She liked it better in the spring and summer when she could have the window fully open, like a spacious balcony overlooking half the city, warm wind in her hair. Warmer weather was definitely better; winter fashions were so dull and bulky.

Sighing, she found it sad that instead of wanting coffee at this hour to keep her warm, she was craving a soothing herbal tea and a chance to get reacquainted with her pillow. "Me," she gave a self-disparaging laugh, "the great Lana Lang, fashion designer of the elite and socialite extraordinaire, ready to clock out at one in the morning." She shook her head. "What is the world coming to?"

Putting the kettle on and searching the cupboards for a mug of suitable size, the sudden knock at the door surprised her. Setting the burner on low for the time being, she stepped curiously to the door. She rested her hand gently as she brought a narrowed teal eye to the peephole. Black rounded rims and slicked-back hair desperately fighting to curl loose greeted her sight.

"Clark!" she grinned, opening the door. Circling her arms around him in a quick embrace, she pretended not to notice that his suit and coat looked like they had been thrown on in the dark, though her inner fashion sense flared disdain. "What are you doing here so late? Or, early, I guess," she led him inside.

"Just come to visit an old friend for the holidays," he smiled.

"Uh huh," Lana rolled her eyes. "Come on, Clark. Wishing someone well at one in the morning? You're hiding something," she held his chin so she could tilt his head down to look into his eyes, "or hiding from someone . . ."

"Lana, I-"

"Oh, I bet you're on some sort of huge mission, and the villain has some kind of kryptonite war suit and you have to lie low until you can think of a plan to-"

He gave her a disbelieving but amused glance and she ceased her fantasy. "Well, you're hiding, I know that much," she crossed her arms.

"Enough with the intrigue, Lana. Can't I just stop by to see my friend?"

She sighed. "Well, I suppose. But I warn you, I won't be all that entertaining."

"Rough week on the runway?" Clark smiled and took a seat on one of the barstools.

"You know I don't like to model my own merchandise," she leaned her back on the counter, propped up on her elbows, one of the straps on her dress slipping down. "Well, not often anyway. Can't help myself sometimes." She winked at him.

The kettle whistled. Stepping around the counter to the stove, she glanced over her shoulder. "Want some tea? It's not really weather for a root beer float."

"Sure," he answered with a slight smile at the mention of one of his favourite treats.

She handed him a cup with a teabag sitting in it, and he stared a little while at it while it bobbed up and down, browning the liquid. She sat down next to him, stirring the contents of her mug with slight impatience.

"I wasn't sure you'd actually be in," Clark said, warming his hands on the sides of his steaming cup. "No late-night engagements with the money moguls of the town?"

"Believe it or not," she picked up the string of the teabag and began to dip it slowly, up and down, "sometimes I get tired of being so desirable."

"Hard to believe."

"I'm serious, Clark," she mock-glared. "All the fancy parties and big names get dull. I wonder why I even go sometimes. It's not like anyone there is good conversation. After the usual 'how are you' and 'such and such successful venture' and 'this much margin of profit', it gets real boring real quick."

"And no new escort to save you from the attack of the boring billionaires?" Clark blew the steam from the top of the drink and removed the bag. He took a judicious sip.

"Hardly," she let out a rush of air like a laugh, both self-depreciating and amused at Clark's new expression. His tongue stuck out slightly and his face scrunched as he set the mug down. "Too bitter?" Lana knew. Her tone turned sly and taunting. "I'll get you some honey, sweetie."

After grabbing the honey from the cupboard, she dabbed a sticky golden glob on a spoon and stirred it into his tea. "Try it now."

He graciously took it and tried again, this time with an approving smile the result. She gave a satisfied nod and walked around the counter again to sit back down. Clasping the cup in her hands she looked into the dark contents in contemplation. "It's true though. I haven't had anyone lately-probably one of the reasons I feel so out of place when I go to those gala events."

"No one? At all?" he looked surprised.

"No one for very long anyway," she shrugged. "I've picked up a few to tag along at certain parties, but I haven't really dated anyone since Lex . . . I guess he's enough to make any girl swear off men for a while." Seeing his sympathetic expression, she led away from that topic. "Anyway, I don't think any of the men here could hold something for me; too much big-city attitude. Even this time of year they're all business."

"If you don't like the company here," Clark put gently, "you could always go home for Christmas."

"Back to Smallville?" Lana pondered aloud, testing on her tongue how much she liked the prospect. "I don't know, with events and scheduling . . . will you be going back too?"

"I plan to spend it with my folks," he answered.

"Hm," she looked over to large window, its panes speckled white by the wind-blown flurries. "I suppose maybe I could head back. It's been a while . . . but enough about me, what's been up with you? I expected if you were coming over, I'd be sharing this," she gestured with her hand holding the cup of tea, "with Big Boy Blue. Why'd you change outfits?"

"Didn't want to raise suspicion," Clark took another sip. "Superman hasn't saved you from any disasters lately; it'd be strange if he were seen checking up on you for no reason."

"Unless you count the disaster of a suped-up robo-Lex almost destroying the world," she smart-alecked. "But then you'd have to check up on everyone on the planet."

"Funny," he said sarcastically.

"Why _are_ you checking up on me?" she asked suddenly. "I'm surprised you've got the time."

"I'm on vacation," he shrugged. "And it's nice to be Clark sometimes," he stared into his tea with a distant look. For a moment the only sound was the wind outside whipping up against the windowpane.

"What are you talking about? You're always Clark." She took in his downcast expression. "Hey," she put a hand on his shoulder, "don't talk like you're two different people. Clark is Superman and Superman is Clark; it's one of the simple truths that help my world make sense."

"Simple? How can you say that?" he demanded softly. "Superman has the power to destroy whole worlds and—"

"And he never would, because his parents raised him right," she interrupted.

"You don't understand," his eyes turned, now gleaming at her intently. "When I'm Superman I don't—"

"There is no 'when'," she stressed, "you _are _Superman."

"But I was so close to . . . in the battle with Luthor . . ."

"But you didn't," she responded soothingly. "That's what's important. If Clark couldn't let himself do it, then neither could Superman. There's your proof right there." He looked as though he were about to speak. "And your little extra-dimensional counterpart was probably only able to do it because he didn't listen to his own good sense—and his friends' good advice," she said with a nod of her head, indicating that was to be the end of all arguments.

He stared at her a moment, a blank look of amazement on his face before it gradually turned to a gentle smile. "You know, Lana," his eyebrows raised in admiration, "sometimes I underestimate you."

"That's a dangerous course of action," she smirked. "So when are you going to have this little heart-to-heart with your tooth and nail reporter?"

"How'd you—"

"I make it my business to know," she quipped. "I'm surprised she doesn't too with how nosey she is. And," she interrupted before he could let out another protest, "don't give me that whole keeping-it-a-secret-to-protect her bit. Honestly, that woman knows how to get herself into enough danger all on her own."

"Well," he blushed, looking away, "I guess it's—"

He stopped suddenly when the comlink in his ear blipped to life. He raised his hand to his ear. "I read you Metro Tower. What's the problem?"

Lana leaned her elbow on the table and rested her head in her hand. "Saved by the buzzer."

"S.T.R.—" Superman answered the transmission, "I know it's upsetting that you can't find Courtney after curfew. I—"

Rolling her eyes, sure that Clark had practically prayed for this to happen so he could avoid explaining himself to her, Lana blew some stray bangs from her eyes.

"Yes, I understand, but this is a secure li—what?"

Lana perked up.

"What do you mean, Supergirl didn't come in for her shift?" his expression became fierce. "Where was she last seen? You don't know? How could you not know? You were supposed to be her senior supervisor!"

Lana was torn between being worried and being amused as his protectiveness manifested itself into a biting tone.

"Calm d—I am calm! We can't do th—there's no time. I'll meet you at the tower. Superman out," he concluded sternly. He glanced over at Lana with veiled anxiety. "Lana I—"

"Have to go, I know." She gave him a knowing glance. "Don't bite any heads off."

He almost laughed, and would have, had circumstances been different. Putting a hand to her shoulder he gave her a small smile. "I'll try. Stay safe, all right?"

"You know I won't," she winked. "Just don't think we're done with this conversation. I want to know exactly why you came here running from Lois' crazy party plans and how long you thought you could keep this holiday party a secret from me."

Clark blinked in shock.

"My business, remember?"

* * *

"Yeah! All right, school's _out_!" came the boyish cheer as snow-covered shoes raced through the front door.

"Master Timothy!" Alfred scolded after him. "Wipe your feet!"

But Tim had already turned the corner in the hall. A wet path of dirty footprints behind him, his face was ruddy with the cold and his excitement. Pictures in stern frames flew by as his feet followed the pace of his heartbeat. His scarf and jacket were discarded, falling far behind as he leapt forward in liberation. Coming to the stairs to the main living room, he slid down the banister, laughing in exhilaration as his hair went wild in the wind generated during his descent. Jumping and tumbling when he reached the bottom, his momentum was cut suddenly short by a pair of trousered legs.

Upside-down with his head on the floor, Tim could barely catch a glimpse of the sandy hair and dark melancholy eyes. "Hey, big guy," the boy waved.

J'onn stepped back so Tim could right himself. Brushing his sleeve, the kid gave one of his rakish grins before fully taking in the expression of the now humanoid Martian. "What's wrong?"

"Simply put," the distant tone was slow, "I am out of touch. My apologies for being in your way." He turned and started walking.

"Hey, wait," Tim called after him.

"Master Timothy," Alfred's disapproval echoed from the top of the stair.

"Oh man," the boy's shoulders slumped. "I'm in trouble."

Finally catching up to him at the foot of the stairs, Alfred tugged on his ear as he scolded. "A fine mess you've made! I only had those carpets cleaned Wednesday! Since you've such an attachment to the snow, I suppose you won't mind getting better acquainted," the butler's eyes narrowed. "Via snow shovel, of course. I want you to do the whole pathway to the house as well as the roundabout."

"Aw, c'mon," Tim tried his best to be charming. "I didn't mean to make a mess, honest. Haven't you ever been a kid? Where's your sense of fun?"

J'onn stopped before coming to the door out. Turning his head slightly, he watched the interaction.

"I have," Alfred remained adamant, "and at your age, I would have been told the exact same thing. You shall spend the next two hours shovelling that snow so you don't track it back into the house any more, or no dessert tonight."

Tim sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, sir."

"Very well then," Alfred nodded, satisfied. "I'll get the shovel."

Tim followed him with his gaze until he was out of the room. He gave a petulant frown to J'onn. "Why didn't you help me out?"

"Excuse me?" he asked curiously.

"Couldn't you have done some freaky Martian thing to make him not so mad?" Tim huffed.

"I believe you misunderstand my abilities," J'onn answered. "And he is merely trying to teach you responsibility."

"Couldn't he have just given me a puppy or something?" he whined.

"I fail to see how a—"

"Here you are, Master Tim," Alfred re-entered, thrusting a large snow shovel into Tim's hands. "I suggest you get started so you can finish in time for dinner." He directed his attention to J'onn. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind supervising? I have . . . other affairs."

"Bat—Bruce and Diana are arguing in the library," J'onn said helpfully.

Alfred stiffened in mild surprise, but quickly recovered, remembering to whom he was speaking. "Thank you. Your supper will be ready at five o' clock," he whirled back at Tim, catching him in the act of trying to tip-toe his way out of the room unseen, "and if you don't finish in time, you'll have to eat it cold."

Tim gave an exasperated huff of air. "All right, all right. C'mon, Mr. Manager," he signalled over to J'onn to follow him outside.

* * *

"We're not finished here," she called after him, her hands on her hips.

"I'm leaving anyway," he responded flatly, stepping briskly out the door.

Alfred narrowly dodged Bruce's barrelling form as the angry heir stormed down the hallway. Peering inside the library, he met with Diana's icy glare, which, he presumed, was for the young master. "Might I ask what that was about?" he questioned cautiously.

"It never changes," she sighed in answer.

"Well, Master Bruce is of a rather fixed nature," Alfred responded soothingly as he entered the room.

"That's an understatement," she rolled her eyes.

"Did you perchance hear where he may be going?" he picked up a book from the end table near an armchair and placed it back on the shelf.

Diana plopped herself into the chair. "Of course not. He only said that he was going out."

"Perhaps it's too much to hope he's gotten the same idea I have," Alfred bent down and pulled a box from beneath the chair. "Would you mind helping me wrap this before Master Timothy finishes the chore I sent him on?"

* * *

The air crisp and chill, only a few snow flurries fell to the ground, marking the passage of the previous night's near-blizzard. The clouds above echoed the white upon the ground, an unbroken, pristine blanket. Lightly dancing in the air, the snowflakes brushed his cheeks and tickled his nose. J'onn sniffed.

"Man, this is a lot of work," Tim huffed as he dumped the last few shovels of snow. "But I finished with time to spare. Guess I really am amazing, huh?" he gave J'onn a cocky grin.

J'onn remained stony. "Indeed."

"Jeez," Tim poked his finger into a mound of snow on the side of his freshly dug pathway. "I thought Batman was the one who never smiled," his finger traced a frowning face. "You should lighten up. Do something fun."

"I'm not sure I—" he quickly went intangible before he finished his sentence as a lump of snow came flying at him. It splatted harmlessly against a wall of the manor.

"See? No fun at all."

"I do not find provoking violence 'fun'," he gave Tim a stern look.

"That's what I'm talking about," he came toward the elder man and put the shovel up against the house. "You take things so negative—like there's no other way to look at it."

J'onn watched silently as Tim leapt back out into the yard, sinking slightly as he stepped. "Considering your surroundings," he tilted his head, shaking some snowflakes from his sandy hair, "it would appear you'd be used to such an outlook."

"Point taken," the boy scuffed his foot, watching as it sent a small white spray over the ground in front of him. "But that's no reason to copy his example. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's super cool, and it's awesome he lets me help out, but sometimes it's nice to see heroes who fight because they want to do good, and not because they're all dark and vengeance-y." He lifted his eyes to meet J'onn's. "I always thought it was really cool that someone like you could be on the Justice League, y'know?"

"I'm afraid I do not."

"C'mon. You didn't even come from Earth, but you fight for it as hard as any human. Harder, maybe."

"Superman is not from Earth. As are many others."

"Yeah, but their first impression of the planet wasn't an army tank welcome wagon and an all-expense-paid stay in the local lockdown facility. What?" Tim shrugged at J'onn's raised brow. "I do my homework. Besides, before I heard about you, I always thought aliens were weird slimy things that shot people up into their saucers and sucked out their brains. Well, I guess Superman was different, but he looks like a normal guy. Except for that weird curly thing his hair does. Hey," Tim perked up suddenly. "You ever make a snowman before?"

"Snowman?" J'onn questioned, surprised at the random shift in subject matter.

"Dude, I thought you were the mind reader. You know, snowman. Clumps of snow shaped like a man."

"I cannot say that I have done such a thing," the wind gently pushed his coat as he followed Tim out into the snow-covered yard. There was something in this boy, this wonder and excitement that was intriguing.

"I bet you'd be real good at it," Tim bent down and began scraping snow together, "what with your freaky powers and all. Wanna lend a hand?"

* * *

"Thanks again for inviting me, Kara," Courtney smiled. "You know how Pat never lets me out much."

"Hey, I know the feeling," Kara winked at her. "In Kansas, remember?"

"Yeah, you won't let me forget," Courtney adjusted the straps on her boots. "This going to be the last slope before we call it a night?"

Kara looked up at the dimming sunlight. "Yeah, I guess. What do you think Barbara?"

"It's about five right now and it's getting dark," the red-head reasoned, "so yeah. If we try and speed it up as we go down though, we might be able to go again."

"Hey, take it easy, Barb. You try and push it, and this time you might really sprain your ankle."

"Oh, give it a rest, Dick," Barbara rolled her eyes. "I let you come along so you could relax and have fun with us, not to baby-sit."

"Well with the way you act sometimes . . ." he crossed his gloved arms.

"Lighten up," Kara gave him a light-hearted slap on the back, nearly knocking him over. "We'll be fine."

"Yeah, and besides," Courtney adjusted her hair beneath her beanie, "we're definitely able to take care of ourselves."

"So c'mon, Boy Wonder," Kara teased, adjusting her skis to the ready, "see if you can keep up. Unless you're scared you'll lose to a bunch of girls."

"I'm not—argh," he groaned, exasperated, too tired to fight them anymore and wise enough to realise a fight with one against three would get him nowhere. Barbara shook her head at him and patted him on the shoulder consolingly.

"You guys go on ahead. We'll catch up."

"Suit yourself," Courtney shrugged.

"Yeah, catch you back at the cabin," Kara winked to her friend. "Don't be too long."

With that, the two blondes shot down the hillside, scarves flying behind them. Trees zipped past as their skis slid over the ground, the dying sunlight flickering between the branches.

Courtney breathed an exhilarated breath. "This is so great. I'm telling you, I can't thank you enough for letting me come up with you guys."

"The more the merrier," Kara responded. "I just hope Dick and Barbara remember to come back."

"Yeah, what's going on between those two?"

"Near as I can tell," Kara swerved to avoid a rock, "they were pretty serious back when he was in college. But after he graduated, there was a fight and he left town for about three years. He came back, and they've been like this since," she gave a glance at the other girl. "But that's just what I've picked up."

"They've definitely got some tension between them," Courtney's hair whipped behind her, "but I don't really get what she sees in him. He's kind of . . . blah."

"I'd hate to say it, but I kind of agree," Kara acquiesced. "And he should cut his hair."

"_Definitely_. It's almost as long as mine!"

"Then again," Kara tilted her head slightly in thought, though still paying attention to the slope before her, "he may just seem boring to us. Maybe when he's with her he sparks up. It's always the quiet ones, you know?"

"I wouldn't. Along with keeping me in by ten, Pat never lets me _near _boys without him."

"What about the League? You're near them a lot," Kara got that look that said she was fishing for something juicy. "Any 'comrades in arms' . . . interesting to you?"

"No, what do you care?" her response was defensive.

"Just asking, sheesh," Kara backed off. "Touchy."

"What about you?" Courtney fired back. "Anyone . . . interesting?"

"What? Me? No way," Kara said rapidly. "Besides, it's not like my cousin would allow it."

"Oh like that would stop you," Courtney rolled her eyes.

"Hold it right there!"

The two girls swerved to a halt, sending a shower of snow forward with their abrupt turning stops. Beneath the new white, icy layer, they could just barely make out the familiar forms.

"Clark?" Kara discerned as he wiped the snow from his glasses. "What are you doing here?"

"Pat?" Courtney realised.

"Courtney! How could you run off like that!" the large red-headed man on the left barked shaking off his coating of snow.

Clark's frown seemed frozen in place. "I spent all day looking for you, Kara. I don't care if you did get Captain Atom to fill in for you, you didn't tell me where you were."

She gave an irritated huff. "I go here _every year _with Barbara, Clark. I told Ma and Pa. Did you bother to ask them?"

"Well . . . I . . ." he shook his head. "That doesn't matter, you didn't tell me."

"Hey, I got my shift covered, I told Ma and Pa, and I can take care of myself fine. I don't see a problem here," the young superheroine was beginning to get angry.

"And you brought Courtney along without consulting her step-father," Clark was adamant.

"What are you talking about?" Courtney crossed her arms. "I asked you last week and you said it was fine."

"What? No you didn't!" Pat responded.

"Did too!" Courtney insisted. "When you were watching TV! I said, 'hey, Pat, I'm gonna go on a ski trip with Supergirl. Is that okay?' and you said 'uh huh'," she mimicked a dazed approval.

"When I was wa—you know I zone out when I watch the game!"

"Well, I heard you say that it was okay, and Mom didn't have anything against it, so I don't see what your problem is."

Pat looked sceptical. "And you don't have any duties this week for the League?"

Courtney sighed. "_No_."

"You done now?" Kara asked impatiently. "We'd like to finish this slope before it gets dark so we can find our way back to the cabin."

"What's going on, guys?" Barbara and Dick finally made their way down. They stopped in confusion at the two newcomers.

"Well at least we'll make it to the bottom together now," Kara rolled her eyes. "If you'll excuse us." She brushed past Clark. "We're going to finish this hill and then go back to the cabin, have some hot chocolate, and have a good time, _perfectly safe_, all on our own. C'mon guys."

Barbara shrugged and followed suit, indicating to Dick to follow. The young man smiled affably over his shoulder before he slid down the hillside. "Don't worry. I'll keep 'em in check."

"'Bye, Pat!" Courtney waved.

Pat watched the last glimpse of blonde hair descend down the slope before it dawned on him.

" . . . Wait, Courtney! You didn't tell me there were _boys_!"

* * *

The sun was just sinking behind the imposing shape of the manor house as Bruce pulled up. Rounding the curve before the entrance to the garage, he glanced at the figures in his front yard. He blinked in surprise.

Tim placed a bit more snow on his assistant, sculpting out a slender waist. Patting it down to smooth out the edges, the snow conformed tightly to the model's form, creating an exact replica.

"What in the world is Diana doing?" Bruce slowed the car to get a closer look.

Her body was nearly covered in the white snow, coming up from her toes to the top of her waist, and extending from one arm to the other, only leaving her head, neck, and upper torso exposed. Scooping up another lump of snow, Tim was about to place a hand higher when a thought seemed to cross his mind. Hovering his hand near her chest, he looked up at her. "I think you need to go bigger again."

As if on cue, Diana's bust increased another cup size.

Nearly swerving into the snow-filled yard, Bruce slammed on the breaks, screeching the car to a halt.

The two in the yard turned their heads sharply at the noise, watching as Bruce stumbled dazedly from the car. Tim looked from his living sculpture to Bruce's strange reaction and began to chuckle.

Phasing out of the snow, Diana's form melded into the familiar green-skinned shape of J'onn J'onzz. "I am sorry if I startled you."

"Startled?" Tim giggled. "His eyes are _still _bugging out!"

"That's not funny," Bruce growled. "What are you two doing anyway?"

"Making snowmen," Tim said nonchalantly. "I think we make a good team," he indicated the five other sculptures in the yard.

All around them, figures of snow glistened in their frozen moulds. Launching himself upward with his fist in the air, Superman flew to the fore, flanked closely by a replica of J'onn J'onzz in a fighting stance. To their left Green Lantern shot backwards, his ring projecting a beam before him that scattered the snow on impact. A raised spray exploded behind the racing form of the Flash, his grin frozen in place. Hawkgirl just barely touched the ground with one pointed boot as she raised her mace to strike. Behind the three warm-blooded spectators, the incomplete Wonder Woman held her golden lasso in her grip, her form rearing back with all her strength.

Bruce's eyes travelled from one sculpture to the next, cold blue eyes appraising each. "You've been busy."

"Just having a little 'fun'," J'onn said seriously.

"Yeah, J'onn changes his form into whichever person we're doing and then we coat him in snow," Tim explained excitedly. "After I'm done, he fades out and it's left intact."

"There are so many reasons why that shouldn't work," Bruce frowned.

"But aren't they cool?" Tim pressed as Bruce continued to examine his creations. Seeing the puzzled look on his face, he continued. "If you're looking for the Batman snowman, he's over here."

Bruce followed the boy's pointed finger to a shape beneath Wonder Woman's foot. Her lasso, in fact, was caught around the neck of the pointy-eared caped crusader as he bowed in submission, kneeling with the Amazon's heeled boot placed firmly upon his back, holding him down with the lasso like a short leash.

"Very funny," Bruce growled.

"We thought so too." Tim smiled until he met with Bruce's glower. "He thought of it," the boy pointed to J'onn.

J'onn sheepishly put his hands behind his back and looked away.

A slight tick developing beneath his left eye, and too furious (or embarrassed) to say anything further, Bruce stomped back to pull the car out of the snow, grumbling something about evil aliens and equally evil children.

"Why did you tell him?" J'onn frowned slightly at the boy. "You could have just left it alone so he would not be so angry with me."

Tim grinned impishly. "I believe you misunderstand my abilities."

A pleasant rumbling sound coming from his partner in crime, Tim smiled as he figured he was the first person on the face of the planet to make a Martian laugh. Yet another reason why he really was amazing.

* * *

_The world is your snowball, see how it grows._

_That's how it goes, whenever it snows._

_The world is your snowball, just for a song—_

_Get out and roll it along!_


End file.
